


One Foot in Front of the Other

by Chemical_Breather



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: ANGST ALL THE WAY, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Escort Service, Fighting, GoTG AU, M/M, Multi, Murder, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Trans Character, dirty yondu, mentions of underage/non-con, trans! Kraglin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical_Breather/pseuds/Chemical_Breather
Summary: The journey of how Yondu Udonta seduced a street rat and how they navigate a relationship they may not be able to keep.





	1. Gun

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a labor of love, and I hope all who read this enjoy.  
> TW:  
> This chapter contains hints of sexual assault and attempted rape, as well as drug and alcohol abuse.  
> Song: Gun-Chvrches

No one really thinks too much about the sun. Sure, it’s pretty damn bright, can make the day hot as the lick of cigarette ashes, tar melting on the road like some sort of cheap candy stuck too close to the hot iron of a stove, creating vapors that shimmer above the surface like some kind of hallucination. Kraglin knew there was some word for it, started with an ‘M’, something close to mirror or some shit, but his brain didn’t have the energy to wrack for such useless information, not like a guy with barely enough education to read signs could recall such information no how. Didn’t matter, that wasn’t what Kraglin was thinking about when it came to that planet anyways. No, it was a star..was it a star..? Fuck, he didn’t know, why was he even arguing with himself on this shit… Point was, the sun wasn’t just hot as balls and bright as the headlights that stopped passing by what felt like days ago. No. The sun was an unforgiving bitch, selfish. Took up too much space in the sky, didn’t let none of the clouds outshine it one bit, and Kraglin weren’t never the type to like selfish things, or people for that matter.

He had been walking down a main highway, couldn’t remember the name of it, couldn’t care less that he didn’t, all he knew was he was getting away from all the shit that was behind him. He limped on one side, right or left, he weren’t never good at keeping up with which was what, but at least the pain was gone, and that was all that happened for the good to him recently. It was all numb, no tingles, didn’t even think he was bleeding anymore, but he could tell just by the angle that one of his arms was broken. He cradled it to his side with his good hand, watching the last few inches before it hit the hand sway in a way that would bring bile up his throat if he mulled too hard over it, looked too close at it. He kept getting the urge to poke at it, but supposed that wouldn’t be too good of an idea neither, so he just let it be, kept his chin up, and kept walking on. Sweat stuck his ripped up shirt to his back, jeans sagging half way down his flat ass, thighs not thick enough to even rub enough to chafe, yet he still felt like something was getting irritated down there, maybe the swampiness of sweat that was always caused by being an idiot and opting out of wearing any drawers. He snickered as if he were still high at the fact anyone who would pass, if they ever did, would see one of those well known plumber’s cracks and he couldn’t keep from shimmying his hips a little to lower the seat of his pants just a little more. Hoped it grossed someone out, or maybe some gross old man would take a liking to him, wanna pick up a stray cat that weren’t good for much but staying silent and creeping people out.

He never much had good luck with people having the stomach to tolerate how he looked. Tall was an understatement, only on the cusp of seventeen and he reached damned near six foot, limbs thin as a reed you could whip someone with, hands nearly as ridiculously big as his ears. He barely had a chin, such an underwhelming overbite you could call it a birth defect, and his nose took up near a third of his face. Courtesy of not bathing any time the past month, his hair was tangled and thick, a wild mane running a landing strip from base of skull to top of his head, the color bleached blonde with the rest of his scalp shaved close, maybe some patches left, but you couldn’t exactly complain when ya done it yourself with a pocketknife and some soap. 

Point was, he never was much of a “ladies’ man”, shit, he didn’t even particularly like nor get along much with those with cunts, not in the sexual attraction sense, no how. Nothing wrong with it, just wasn’t his thing.The only thing he supposed he could ever really give himself to draw people in with was his eyes. Wide, big and so grey they were near sky blue. Unassuming and innocent looking, made it easy to slip out of bad situations, or rather, it was for any altercation that didn’t involve blood relatives. He tried only once to get out of being in trouble by batting his lashes, back when he was but a small brat, and that got him a good knock upside the head sharp enough to burst an eardrum. Still didn’t hear too well with that ear after that, had to pierce it to remember which one it was, which way to tilt his head to help increase his hearing. It gave him a better chance to decipher what was being screamed into his face, or alternatively, better ignore all of the bullshit, spittle flying like the rain that had poured right before he ditched the hick town he grew up in. That, and the sorry excuse for a mother he had in it.

The day had been hot, just like this current one, but as five rolled around, so did the storm clouds. The heavens opened, and down poured buckets of water, the air thick with the tang of lightening. He could taste it on his tongue along with the blood he had just spat out, glare angled to the side so the bitch that birthed him wouldn’t be able to accuse him of pointing such a look at her. See, his mother was the closest example to what witches looked like in kid’s fairy tales. Tall and thin, hands gnarled, fingers long and thin as claws that she would use to pick up a blunt, pinch it between thin lips and inhale harder then when she snored during the nights. She wore a sweater to keep the chill out, face gaunt as a phantom and skin near as pale, a less attractive version of himself, Kraglin had to say. He was just thankful he had gained more of his looks from whatever bastard knocked her up all those years ago.

She always had an opinion, though. That he was selfish, alway blaming everything on him. Her unemployment, getting fired for the fourth time from her job, because it couldn’t have possibly been due to her laying out, needle still in her arm, hiding in the supplies closet. No, it was because Kraglin decided to get his ass kicked by the group of boys down the road, the ones who were too pussy to come at him head on, had to ambush him, throw rocks at his head. Called him words, too, but those didn’t hurt, not near as bad as the first punch to his nose. The same one that sat a tad crooked on his face after getting broken so many times, matched the deep purple bruise on his right eye from the wallop his mother gave him just the other day for back talking her. How was he supposed to be aware that asking her if she was sure that they had another coke in the dinky fridge meant back talking? She seemed to have hundreds of things that appeared as one thing but meant the complete opposite. Bitch really needed to make a list so Kraglin could decipher the way she thought already, couldn’t keep up with her back and forth self deprecating bullshit. However, with how frequent she was to change her mind, that’d mean a new list each day, and there was no point in that, so he just kept his mouth shut and his head down. 

Through her shouting and screaming, calling him a selfish piece of shit, asked why he had to be so fucked up, why he couldn’t just be normal and hang out with girls, why he had to pick fights with everyone. Demanded he pay her back for the dishes she had just chucked at him and that he amounted to nothing. Could die that night and not a soul would bat an eyelash, that she would throw a huge party for the occasion. Each word was spat with more and more vehemence and his shoulders hiked higher and higher with every enraged word. Normally he would just let it happen, accept it for what it was, every accusing word twisting in his gut and churning his mind like a tilta-whirl could do at a fair. And hell,maybe he thought those things of himself in the middle of the night, clutching knees to a caved in chest. Maybe even agree a little with her. But something was off with him that night, and he grit his teeth and stood up to full height, eyes flickering to the steak knife half way hanging out their silverware drawer, coated in grease and rat piss. He could do it..could take her on, get out of this hell hole. He tensed up his frame to pounce, shoulder blades wound tight as a spring. But all fight left him when the sound of a car driving up sent shivers down the teen’s spine. Her boyfriend, the one who supplied her with all the drugs she wanted, some ugly thick tree of a guy, face almost as red as his hair, and a smile that could make cockroaches seem unassuming and cute. He hated that fucker, fury and discomfort rising up his throat, constricting his chest as the echo of a car door slamming caused a jump of a flinch to traverse his thin frame. The boyfriend made an entrance of someone who thought he was the shit, swaggered in like he owned the place or something. But he didn’t, asshole barely had a dollar to his name, but he took hundreds from his mom just fine. Guess the guy knew nothing of owning a moral compass.

Kraglin didn’t like the asshole almost as much as he didn’t like vegetables, those leafy piles of disappointment that tasted of nothing but grass and regret. That’s what he made Kraglin feel, alright. Regret. It weren’t even the way he spoke to his cunt of a mother, sharp tongue, nothing but cussing and insults, nor the way he spelt like nicotine and piss at all times. No, it was something in his beedy black eyes. Every time he visited they got darker, sharper, an idea coming together, an animal getting closer and closer to its prey. That was what sent a chill down the teen’s spine, back straightening, face falling to distrust, hands clenched white knocked at his sides as he stood and disappeared into the hole in the wall he was allowed as a room. Really, it was like a small storage closet that he put a curtain over the doorway, pile of blankets on the floor and a small shelf on the wall to store what little he owned. Mostly knives, some bones he collected, what little jewelry he had for the ring in his ear and the bar through his tongue, did both hisself. Always felt proud whenever he remembered that, caught a glimpse of the shining metal in the mirror. He tugged at the ring in his ear now, eyes scanning as far ahead as he could see, wondering absently when the next car would pass and if he could actually catch a ride from this one. His fingers traced over, short bitten nails scraping along peach fuzz and flaked off dry blood and he blinked as if just remembering that his entire front of him was covered in dark red blood. Not so much a problem to him, unassuming, really. But that must have been why that last mini van had sped up after they got a look at him. No matter, not like he owed those shit heads an explanation anyways. The stains felt like a medal of honor, kept him grounded, head clear as he just continued to walk on.

 

 

“Hey, ya worthless shit! Get out here!” Kraglin startled from his light sleep, blinking blearily in the dark of his room as his mind tried to register the sharp tone directed at him. Not a hiss of a whisper as much as a cocky shout. That only ever happened when he knew he could be as loud as he wanted. Meant mom was already passed out on drugs and booze, and those were the moments the teen hated most. He untangled his gangly limbs from his thin blankets, near getting a foot caught in one of the holes and he had to swallow back the yelp of surprise before he was finally able to emerge from his room. He stood there, past his curtain, blinking dumbly in the dark as his eyes adjusted, near bolting as another hiss drifted towards him, somewhere from the direction of the living room.

“In here, dumbass. Get over here…!” He slurred, Kraglin tensing and, quite as he could, slowly peaked around the corner of the room to see the guy sprawled out on the couch. His gaze was dazed, not particularly landing on anything, shirt gone and beer in one big hairy knuckled hand. Kraglin was used to hearing such a tone, but not quite so confident, so gravely and harsh, topped off with a splash of a chuckle. He was drunk. Drunk meant sour lips, rough stubble, and hands that groped roughly where he definitely didn’t want them. Usually he would follow the orders, walk on over, let the guy fumble over him, force kisses to his mouth, and fall asleep after jerking one out over his chest. But, again, there was something different in the air, sharp with danger, and instead of doing as he had been ordered, Kraglin turned back around and dashed back into his room. He heard the roar of outrage as he hid in his covers, knife clutched tight in a hand that he concealed under his thin pillow. The boyfriend was sure as fuck pissed, loud pounding of footsteps headed straight for his hiding place, and he felt the covers lift from him his thin frame. He heard the clattering of the curtain getting knocked to the floor, the hulk of a man tangled up in them. Furious, he narrowed his eyes at the cowering teen who scrambled into one of the corners, eyes wide as he watched the man stalk forward. 

“Little shit. Can’t jus move yer hips about like that an not expect me ta do nothin’. Nah….I think it’s time we popped that cherry ‘ah yers. Yeah..I been real good, see? Gave ya time ta get used ta it, been real gentle with ya. But now ya almost old ‘nough. Gonna treat ya real good.” His smile was bitter and crooked as he grabbed a hold of the teen’s ankle, tugged near hard enough to dislocate. Kraglin grabbed at the floor furtively, nails scrabbling for purchase, but there was no way he could match the bulk of a guy built like a wrestler. A giant hand tangling in his mohawk harshly and *yanked* as he tugged him onto his chest, kicking his legs apart as his body covered the teen’s like a thick cloud. He heard thunder crack over the house as his sweat pants were yanked roughly to his thighs, fear sharp and cold pulsing through his veins a harsh contrast to the hot and sour breath wafting over his throat as a rough hand fumbled between his legs. He wasn’t going to lay there and take it. Not the abuse from his shitty mother. Not from this disgusting fuck, either.

Determination in his eyes and decision made, Kraglin gripped the knife tighter in his hand, pressed the release button as it slid out nice and pretty right when the accoster lined up to try and slide home without a hint of warning or prep, but he couldn’t exactly expect the guy to do so, that wasn’t how sexual assault usually went no way. The rest of what transpired was a blur in the hick’s memories, but one moment his heart was pounding in his ears, wet head of a cock nudging where he definitely didn’t want it going. And the next moment, he was standing on unsteady feet, back pressed tight against the wall, hands trembling as he tied his sweatpants back into place as best he could. Before him, the boyfriend was laying at his feet, throat slit and blood pouring from his veins. The blonde’s breaths came in fast gasps, near whooshing in and out, ribcage rattling as he wiped blood from his hands onto his shirt only to find more there as well. He knew he should be freaked the fuck out, maybe disgusted even, but the adrenaline rushing through his veins felt..felt good. So he just gave up on getting rid of the slippery evidence and, pocketing the knife, swiped what little he owned into a small duffle bag and ran from his room and the body now in it.

His legs felt heavy as he stumbled into the kitchen, scrambling to pack up some liquor from the fridge, two bags of chips, a pack of cigarettes, and whatever drugs were lying around. He figured that should be enough for a few days, could sell some shit to whoever didn’t look like a narc or a cop. Maybe he could even catch a ride to-. Pausing in his panicked thoughts, Kraglin’s eyes fell onto his mother’s purse and the keys to a car. The car that belonged to the man lying dead in his room… Fuck, what else could he do, couldn’t just ignore such an offering to his escape. He snatched what little bills he came across and scooped the keys up like they were the last piece of food on a plate, barely registering the snoring woman on the recliner, body sprawled out, empty whiskey bottle in her lap. He dashed outside, rain pouring around him so loud it roared like animals in his ears, hurrying into the car and out of the storm still raging on. But the storm in his mind wouldn’t seem to calm, hand shaking so bad he dropped the keys twice before he could jam them into the ignition, giving a shaky twist and heaving a sigh of relief as the engine roared to life. Kraglin had never known how to drive, knew he’d never be able to afford a car anyhow, but it weren’t like now wasn’t a good time to learn.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down, Kraglin shifted the gear into drive and stepped hard onto the gas, peeling out of the grassy front yard as best he could, wheels squealing on the watery lawn, mud and plant matter flying in an arc behind the car as he drove off onto the dirt road that lead to their home. The place was small and dilapidated, the only bedroom caved in from years of disrepair, front porch near rotted through and a roof more patched up then his ripped up tank. He decided then and there, sight of the house shrinking in the rearview mirror, that he wouldn’t miss any damn part of it. He drove wildly down the road, body bouncing about as he hit holes and went over larger rocks, and he decided he liked the feel of the rumble of a car under the palms of his hands. He looked back as if expecting cops to jump out at any moment and near missed the turn onto the main road, back wheels drifting as he turned sharp, too sharp, and before Kraglin could even shout in shock, the car did a roll. He was floating, just for a moment, but the second ticked by near like minutes, gravity shifting and arms lifting towards his skull before he slammed onto his side, the impact sharp and brutal and he felt the snap of his arm more then he heard it. He didn’t realize he was screaming at first, ears ringing and body tense with shock, cries only trailing off when he ran out of capacity in his lungs to make any more sounds. He wanted to cry, curl up and try to internalize everything that had just happened, all that had transpired the last few hours. Unfortunately for Kraglin, reality hit harder then the blunt force trauma he had just suffered in a car crash, and he just knew he had to get out of there before someone showed up. He couldn’t go to prison, not for doing what any other good person with two brain cells available to rub together would have done. So, back burning with effort and arm giving a jolt of sharp pain as he shifted it, he drug himself out of the wreckage and, grabbing his duffle bag that lay a few feet away, began to run down that road as fast as his battered body would allow.

That had been about three days ago, and after stowing away on the back of a truck and walking so long he could feel blisters forming on his feet, pain that seared and throbbed with ever pound of thin shoes on pavement, he was almost to his destination. New Orleans. Where any convict could live without looking over his back too bad. Where pot was legal and liquor was served at every restaurant, and where Kraglin Obfonteri was gonna make his new home. He just had to make it another two hundred miles… And that was beginning to sound impossible… Kraglin wasn’t against walking or hard labor, did that almost every day since he was five or so. However, walking since sunrise for, what felt like, over ten hours was not on his list of things he could handle. His skin on his back prickled, knowing that any inch of flesh on display was well past burned lobster red, and his head was beginning to swim along with those tar vapors that seemed to dance just past his line of clear vision. He misstepped while avoiding a pile of roadkill, body mangled and blood smeared past where it lay, and he stumbled onto his face in the grass and dirt off to the side of the road, wheezing as the wind was knocked out of him. He blinked slow, tried to lift himself back to a standing position, but only accomplished getting his knees under him before he crawled to what little shade a tree, broken down to near nothing with age could give him. The sun would be up a few more hours, and it would probably be much more efficient to walk when the moon was above instead of the sun. So, curled into a small ball, bad arm cradled to his chest and duffle of belongings close to his stomach so no one could run off with any of his shit, very unlikely in this stretch of nothing but plants and rocks, and he allowed himself some fever induced rest.


	2. Royals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poor excuse to have Yondu in 'ya nasty?' booty shorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Sex working, mentions of rape, abuse
> 
> Song: Royals-Llorde

“Ey…Yer short, price was five, not three.”

A radio played in the corner of the room, some upbeat pop song of a tune, something new no doubt. Not really Yondu’s kind of shit but hey, wasn’t his house. He knew that if he so much as said a word about his distaste in the newer music, the guy sitting on the edge of the bed and fumbling with his wallet would stand right up and change it. Not worth his time, wasn’t planning on staying around long enough to listen to another song anyhow. He made a pinched face as cum leaked down his thigh, knowing he should probably snag a shower before he ditched this place, but this Joe had been a bit more romantic then he had liked. Sure, he weren’t no stranger to his clients calling out the names of scorned lovers, old friends, but he’s never had anyone call out his name in such a loving way and it sent his skin crawling. No. No time for that. Hiking his tight leather pants up his thighs, he didn’t look over the array of scars found there, but his shoulders tensed when he caught the other man looking. The longing face he wore making him feel nauseous and he glared, baring his teeth in a sneer of an underbite akin to a bulldog.

“Two hund’erd. Give it.” He declared with an unflattering grunt, hand held out and he didn’t so much as wince when it was placed into his palm, fingers remaining there far longer then he wanted. Taking his hand back and wiping it on his pants, not caring about the hurt look that was flashed across the John’s face, Yondu sniffed and yanked his leather jacket on. It sat a bit too high on his body to really keep him warm, the white fur trimming around the hood more for show, but it went well with how low his pants rode, putting hip bones and a muscled abdomen on display. He didn’t so much as say goodbye when he tanked his boots onto his socked feet and ducked out of the front door, blocking and deleting the guy’s number right away. He had plenty of clients and didn’t need to waste his time on some pathetic guy that couldn’t keep his heart boner in check, that was for damned sure. He tugged out a blunt and whipped his new zippo out to light it, a birthday present he got a week ago. Weren’t his birthday, but no one really knew it. He would just tell each guy a date that would be close enough to gain a fancy gift or a shiny trinket or two before he bounced from that town and went to the next. Puffing smoke into the light summer breeze, he swaggered down the uptown street he had visited for the night, enjoying the scandalized looks he got from those rich assholes he passed. Enjoyed the curious and hungry gazes even more. Didn’t matter where you was from or how heavy your wallet was, no one could resist a good piece of ass, that was for sure. Hell, his entire career revolved around taking money from horny jackasses. He lays around all day anyway, may as well get paid and wreck homes while doing it.

Some would call his job shameful, dirty, hell. He’s had so many insults slung at him, out of disgust and groaned in his ear while they were balls deep, and both sent a funny sort of thrill through him, gold caps glinting as he sent a leer over to some middle aged wife sitting on her porch. Most would ask him how he even started in such a skeevy career, usually lied. Say he liked getting people off and liked to feel good. Have some wild fun with a stranger or two, and most believed him. When that wasn’t good enough, he’d shrug. Spin a tale or two about being too poor to pay for his mama’s medical bill, say he had some kind of debt to pay to a loan shark or some shit. That usually won over hearts, guilt, and a big fat tip at the end of the night. 

Truthfully, though? He was picked up as a babe, traded for some booze and a dirty needle full of drugs by his ma and pops to a man who..let’s say sold the services of children to those who had more..exotic tastes of the flesh. Most of it was just something akin to slavery. He did whatever he was told. Crawled on hands and knees, worked for a small meal a day making heroine. Nothing too extravagant, but at least those who owned him weren’t the type to take an interest in the underdeveloped body of a ten year old. Or rather, all but the last one didn’t. That one Yondu proffered to drink away the memories of him, pretend it never happened, and he did a damned good job of it other then when someone pointed out some of the harsher scars he got. Questioned where he got em, looking fresh and feeling sensitive even after a good ten years or more of having it. Nothing truly turned the mood during a “transaction” then someone pointing at the brands he had over each of his shoulder blades. The fucker liked to mark what was his, has come by two or three others with the exact same thing, but he never tried to discuss it with them. Didn’t work to reach out, share stories, wallow in each other’s trials and tribulations. No, Yondu proffered to look ahead and plan for the future, and right now he was gonna save some big cash, get a car, and travel the world stealing and selling objects and himself. The American dream, or some shit.

But he supposed he could maybe stay around here a bit longer, he mulled to himself as a couple passed by and looked him up and down with appreciation. There was plenty of unhappy marriages, no one here trying to hunt his ass down yet, and a plethora of shiny jewels to swipe on his way out. Speaking of, he tugged out a nice high end watch, looking it over and mentally calculating how much he could get in the black market for it, tapping ashes off his blunt as he stashed it away into an inner pocket. Guy would notice it missing soon, but Yondu had a feeling the guy won’t even call the cops. Probably see it as some pathetic gift that was meant to be. He snorted and shook his head. Some people viewed love as far too important. Love was weak and soft, get ya killed in the world Yondu lived in. Nah, that shit wasn’t for him. All he needed was himself and his shinies. 

He strolled along and watched the houses get smaller and more run down with each block, buildings getting closer and closer together until they were near looming over the man. Windows were busted out, doors boarded up, dogs snarling and more then a few people scurrying into holes. Yondu ignored it and kept an eye out for pickpockets, snarling like an animal at anyone who got too close, and kept his chin up and his face ugly and mean as he went. The deeper in he got, the higher the buildings went, up to four stories and music playing from near everywhere. The sun was beginning to go down for the night, and when the boring rich folks went to sleep, the partiers and alcoholics were just waking up for the night. He could already see some hammered people dancing through a window lined with colorful lights, neon sign above reading ‘The Eclector’. Home sweet home. He kicked the door open and grinned nasty when he heard a cheer of greeting from those at the bar, catching sight of a few guys getting their lap dances as they liked, faces ranging from bright red to sloshed and dazed. He saw Aleta draw a client to the back rooms and send a wink over to Yondu as her husband, and the bastard who adopted him into this odd little family, followed the two with a swing of his hips. Stakar was what he went by, Ogord the odd name the two shared only when on the best of terms with one another, and they owned this joint. Stacker was a guy who looked like he could have been a pretty boy at one point, nose straight and brows arched, eyes that blazed like a fire when he was real excited about something. Aleta was a feisty woman quick to insult and just as fast to bring any man to his knees to beg for even just a minute of her time, damn deadly too. Crazy assholes the both of em, he and his wife, but they were good people and he couldn’t complain. Had a roof over his head, a side job, and a meal whenever he wanted it. They asked nothing in return but he follow a few simple rules, the main ones written on wood above the door.

‘We Don’t Deal In Kids.’ and ‘Steal From Everyone But Each Other’. They made sense to Yondu and who was he to argue or question such philosophies, hell, he ran by about the same concept himself. Sitting his ass down, he grabbed up a drink, something fruity and sweet smelling, the opposite of what most assumed he liked but hey. Whiskey was for getting piss drunk and Gin was to show how tough you were, mixed coattails were for leisure and getting your buzz in place before taking some sweet thing to your room for the night. He brought the drink up to his lips and near spat out his first sip when he turned to see Gef out on the pole, sloshed as a fucking sailor, rolling his impressive lumps of fat and flesh in ways that made Yondu contemplate getting sick. He was undulating his hips and shimmying his tits, nipple tassels over each nipple as if that would make the sight of him in a thong some what decent. He turned around and saw the other guys gasping and wheezing, near falling off their stools. Must have been a dare or he owed them money, either way it was damned hilarious and he took a moment to record the entire show before he went back to enjoying his drink, back to the stage to keep what went down in his gut where it belonged instead of on the sticky counter instead. 

He felt a thick arm around his shoulder and the scent of bad vodka and gingivitis wafted into his nostrils, face scrunching and good mood souring real fast. He knocked the arm off of him and made to stand up, big hand shoving him back down roughly as a tall guy, grizzled and with a beard scraggly as his pubes lent against the bar and eyed Yondu appreciatively. 

“Sup, Udonta, where you been? Was missin’ ya this mornin’ when I woke with a stiffy an no one ta fix it.” He sneered, head tilting to display the dark bite mark Yondu had made the night before along with his fresh buzz cut on each side of his head, rest of his hair tugged into a mess of thick hair. Some would call it dreads, but he knew better, fucker just hadn’t brushed his hair in so long it was all matted into one big chunk of a stinky mane. Yondu never longed for hair to grow on his head so long as this guy stuck around him.

“Not in the mood, Taser.” He spat, making to stand once more only to be shoved back down, glare turning sharp and anger flaring up in his chest, turning his face a bit red. The big guy in question stepped closer, pressed a hand to the base of his skull and squeezed harder then was necessary. Idiot thought since he was big he could push his way around, but when it came down to it and Stakar wasn’t around, everyone knew Yondu was the alpha dog here. So he went along with this little game for just a moment, putting on a dirty smirk and batting his lashes as he shoved Taser down himself, crawled on his lap a bit. Then he grabbed a hold of his dick through his loose pants and twisted harshly, enjoying the pained shout the man made. Pathetic.

“I ain’t. In. The mood. An that just loss ya any nookie you’ll be getting out of me or anyone else who comes here, got it?” He hissed into his ear, shoving himself up and making a show of brushing himself off before he turned away and sent a one finger solute over his shoulder. Yondu could feel the angered glare being sent his way, but he was a free man now. And NO ONE Told him what nor who to do, and that was final.

He stormed past smiling faces and drunk assholes, the sight of it normally brightening his spirits and urging him to join in on the fun, but this time it just filled him with disgust. He felt cornered, claustrophobic, skin prickling with overstimulation and he was trembling with clenched fists by the time he got up to his small room and slammed the door shut, locking it for good measure. Turning and hitting the lights, neon strips of white that draped up to his ceiling and over his bed like stars in the sky, the sight of his trinkets and shinies reflecting the lights and scattering them across the room in bursts of rainbows. That was what had the male relaxing, shoulders sagging and a ragged breath leaving his body like a battered soul finally being released into the other side. His thighs chafed from the crusted cum on them and his head pounded from the altercation downstairs and he just wanted to rest. His phone began to ring, some hidden number, probably a client hopeful to get his or her dick or pussy wet, but they were shit out of luck. Yondu had no energy no fucks to give at that point, Taser always putting him in some sort of foul mood, and he turned the damned thing off before tossing it into his dirty clothes pile. Sagging onto his mattress on the floor, fur blankets and pillows piled up like a nest, he began to worm his way out of his constricting clothing. Yondu was a man of rituals and instinct, and after a fight with his fuck pal, he could never do much but lay on his bed and think about ditching this city. But the jobs were good and the clients wealthy and, so what if the fucking gross asshole and him have traded swings a few times. Weren’t no big deal, he could handle himself. He always did.

And right now, Yondu decided he deserved a night without anyone to entertain. He went to the bathroom to piss and clean up what all he could before collapsing in his nest and inhaling the scents of him and Taser and, with a glare and a yawn, curled up and concluded he would let the bastard back in his bed tomorrow. Even if his cock looked like a chewed up sausage, he was nice and strong and what could Yondu say? He liked it rough. Decision made, he tugged furs to his chin, closed his eyes, and let the muffled sounds of the dying city below lull him into a light rest.


	3. New Americana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraggles is in deep shit and makes some shady friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a scottish accent is so hard, please be lenient on me.
> 
> Song: New Americana-Halsey

Sleep should be nice and soft, a blanket that wrapped around you all tight and secure, and when you were finished you should slowly float out of it. Like your body heading to the surface of the water after a dive in, cold getting warmer, lungs of air drawing you up in some type of physical magnetic pull. No one should wake up with a start, shouting in pain, but that is just what happened when Kraglin awoke. His eyes were blown wide in confusion when he found himself, not on grass in the shady spot he had fallen asleep on, but in a bed. With a real mattress and blankets that created a nice weight on his body. He shot up in a flail of long limbs, grit sticking in his eyes and heart pounding in his chest, reminding him of the times his brain dreamed of him falling and caused his heart to give a kickstart of its own. The sheets felt smooth and cool, a blessing on his sunburnt, and now, blistered skin. He hissed as his arm throbbed and looked down to find some kind of make shift cast wrapped into place, created by the combination of two rulers and some duct tape. That really wouldn’t feel too good on his arm hair when it got ripped off, he just hoped the sunburn wasn’t bad enough to remove some skin with it… Taking deep breaths to calm himself, the blonde slowly looked around to take his surroundings in, blue grey eyes tracing over plush carpet, a nightlight, knick knacks propped up on a dresser that was otherwise barren. He supposed it was the definition of what he imagined regular people’s guest rooms would look. Spotless, cozy, impersonal. Barren of any and all signs of personality. But that didn’t make sense, he knew he had dozed off a good two hour walk from the closest city, what else could have happened…? An idea struck him and it caused him to inhale sharply when he heard soft footsteps headed towards him.

What if he had been caught…what if someone found that meathead’s body, discovered the crash, did some type of Crime Scene Investigation hair follicle, blood tracking, ancestry-dot-com bullshit and hunted him down. That meant he could be headed to jail soon, and if there was one thing Kraglin knew, it was that he wouldn’t make it a day in prison. Not at his age. He may be good at looking a few years older, could pass for twenty one if he acted real bored and pressed the issue, but prison meant having a file. A file meant legal names, your real age and birthday, and other things that he knew would categorize him as the ultimate prison bitch. Fuck. He scrambled out of the bed as quick as he could, near stumbling and falling, making far more noise then he had hoped. He was a gangly guy, not much fluency in anything he did when it came to movement, and he clenched his jaw with frustration and pain when he stubbed his toe on the leg of the bed, hissing under his breath as he hobbled back a few steps. The footfalls were getting louder now, more urgent, probably preparing to slap those metal bracelets to his wrists and toss him into the slammer. 

He steadied his breath as best he could, reaching in his pocket for the knife he had used those some odd nights ago, the only defense he had on him. He slid over towards the wall so he was hidden behind the door as it creaked open, inhaling deeply as someone stepped into the room, looking around confusedly. Wondering where their prisoner had gotten off to, no doubt. Well, tough shit to him. He wasn’t going no where, not quietly, and definitely not without some kind of fight. He crouched down a tad, feeling his muscles coil, his body wind up just as it had done the night he had killed his mother’s boyfriend. But not like last time, he didn’t black out when he attacked. No, he moved with a surety he had never found himself having in any other situation, pouncing with accuracy, jaw set with confidence. Striding with one long step, he wrapped his makeshift cast around the guy’s neck, yanking back to create a choking pressure as he pressed the tip of his knife into the guy’s back, right were his kidney lay. He weren’t sure how he had remembered such things as organs in a human body, supposed it had to do with all the tv he would sneak watch when his mother used to pass out. Didn’t matter no how. All that did matter was he caught this guy off guard, and when Kraglin noticed how much height he had on the man, figuring that he couldn’t be but a few years older then himself, confidence puffed his chest up and he just knew he had won.

“Don’t move.” Kraglin hissed, eyes narrowed, hoping the thick southern twang of his hick accent didn’t throw off the danger in his tone. The shudder that ran through the stranger’s spine had a feral grin make its way to the teen’s lips and he dug the knife just a tad in. Not enough to cut or nothing, but plenty to smart where it poked into tender flesh. “Who are ya..an where am I..why tha fuck ya pickin’ nappin’ strangers up off tha road.” He swallowed, got nervous, tone wobbling a bit as his gaze flickered about in a panic. And whenever Kraglin panicked, he ran his mouth.

“…I ain’t goin’ back, no way…ya can’t make me, even if I gotta kill ya too…” 

Kraglin was expecting more fear from the guy, maybe some piss dripping down his legs. Instead, he got a choked laugh and a piece of dreadlocks hitting him in the face as the guy turned to look at him and the teen hadn’t expected to see a face tattoo nor facial scars.

“Ya ain’t conf’d’nt nuff, can see by ya shiftin’ ayes.” Kraglin blinked at the thick scottish accent coming from the guy, that and how deep it sounded being the last things he had expected. Caught off guard and body lax as he stared at the dreadlocksed man, he gasped when an elbow connected with his stomach, wheezing in pain as he dropped his knife to clutter uselessly away. Doubling over, Kraglin focused on not throwing up the last of the whiskey he had swallowed before his impromptu nap, glaring daggers at the male with tears in his eyes and red cheeks. He probably looked extremely nonthreatening because now the guy was picking his knife up and laughing his ass off. Jackass. His blush traveled to his ears and he side eyed the door, watching the guy walk over and close it, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. It gave Kraglin a chance to take in the man’s features and he had assumed incorrect, the guy was at least twenty years older then the teen.

He also had a scar, not just on one side of his face, but a matching one on the other side, though the near tribal tattoo was only on the one side. He wanted to say it was his right side, but you couldn’t take his word for it. His captor stood maybe about five foot eight, chest wide and arms thick, but more in a healthy sort of way that displayed the fact he must do physical work quite frequently. His dreads seemed to be a bit on the silverish side, Kraglin assuming he dyed it to seem older and tougher, and he wore a black shirt with the long sleeves rolled to his elbows. His pants were old jeans with a few dirt stains on them but nothing worse then that, not even a rip or two. His boots seemed pretty strong though, black, polished, and no doubt steel toed. He overall looked like a bonified tough guy and could definitely kick Kraglin’s ass in a fair fight. 

Knowing when to give up and admit defeat, the teen lifted his hands above his head, gaze averting to the side of the room as shame heated his face further and the guy finished his last breaths of chuckles before taking a step closer, looking Kraglin over in return no doubt. He must have assumed that he could win just as the blonde did because he closed the knife before offering it hilt first back to him. Blinking with confusion, Kraglin hesitantly reached out and accepted the weapon, slowly sliding it into his back pocket as a peace offering, bad arm falling to his side as he inhaled deeply.

“So, uh…who’d ya say ya were again…?” He asked, the older male shaking his head, but he could see amusement on his tatted up features and it had Kraglin’s shoulders relaxing without him telling them to.

“Don’ta werry, lad. I ain’t tha fuzz, if thas whatchur worried ‘bout. Don’t give a shite who ya dun offed. I jus saw ya lyin’ on ta side ah da road. Decided ta pick ya up, make sure ya weren’t a stiff, ya dobber.” Kraglin stared for a good minute as his brained tried to work out what had just been spoken to him, sounding like something out of a fantasy movie or some shit, but he deciphered the gist of the fact the guy had seen his body on the side of the road and decided to investigate. It all made sense and seemed to check out in the blonde’s book so he scratched the back of his neck and nodded dumbly, motioning for the guy to continue.

“When I picked ya up, ya was howlin’ bad, coulda smelled ya ‘fore I even stopped, an ya weren’t wakin’. So’s I decided ta pick ya up. Yer arm looks like shite an I figured ya’d had ta be aff yer heid ta sleep when yer dat ‘urt. Ya a Jakey?” He asked, looking the teen up and down and Kraglin swallowed as he pointed to himself with his good hand, shaking his head helplessly.

“U..uh, nah, no, I’m a Kraglin, uh…what’d ya say I was…?” He asked, getting more and more confused with every word. The scott rolled his eyes and took a breath as if he were trying to explain simple math to an intellectual. Joke’s on him, Kraglin didn’t know most basic math, though he wouldn’t mind learning some day. Felt he’d be pretty good at it.

“Said ya was smellin’ like piss an alcohol, ya was. When’s tha last ya took a bath anyway?” The guy eyed him as if he may take a step back or two depending on his answers and the teen just gave a non committal shrug. Nose scrunching up, the Scott gave a curt nod and offered his hand for a shake.

“Well, Kraglin, then. Name’s Tullk. I got a friend over that’ll lewk at yer arm if you’ll let em?” He offered and all Kraglin felt he could do was nod dumbly and accept the shake. That earned him a wide grin and the guy had far whiter teeth then the teen had expected, walking slowly as he was lead out of the room, down the hall, and into the kitchen to find a guy in a jean jacket and a spread of medical supplies on the kitchen table. Something felt off about this, and Kraglin’s mind supplied that this had to be some kind of back door doctor. And the only people who had face tattoos and hired the services of an illegal doctor..? Some sort of murderers, thugs, and gangsters. His mouth was suddenly very dry. The teen unconsciously squared his jaw, straightened his spine, and gave a bit more squeeze in his hello shake with the doctor then was strictly necessary, not quite meeting his gaze as he took a seat and laid his arm out when instructed to do so. 

Remaining silent, Kraglin sat there and quelled the urges to squirm as much as he could, gaze shifting about the kitchen. The place was nice, counters made of expensive granite, floors wood, fridge shiny and new and nothing like the rusty dilapidated piece of junk he had back in his old town, that was sure. But one thing stuck out at the blonde and he looked around once more to double check. There didn’t seem to be any family photos anywhere, no drawings kids made, not even magnets that advertised where to get your next oil change. Nothing personal to link this ’Tullk’ to the home he lived in, and that just added to the teen’s certainty that the guy had to be doing some kind of illegal job to afford such a nice place. Hell, Kraglin hadn’t felt plush carpet like what had been under his feet moments ago anywhere before, that had to amount to some kind of wealth. Pausing as he followed that thought, blue grey eyes lowered slowly, trailing down his legs down to his feet that were bare, blinking at it for a moment before he turned to his host.

“M’ shoes. Where’re they?” He asked blankly, not caring, just curious. 

Humming to show he heard, the guy finished up the text he had been tapping out on his phone the past five minutes and looked at the teen over the screen with an equally bored expression.

“Trew em out, I did. Stank ta high heaven, don’ need that sorta smell in meh house neither. Gonna give ya a good wash like tha mutt ya ar after yer arm’s fixed up tew.” He finished with a bit of a grin that had the blood in Kraglin’s face draining before it all came back in a rush, cheeks impossibly hot as he averted his gaze. The air in the room seemed to be a bit..odd… That couldn’t have possibly been some attempt at flirting. A well built near thirty year old guy hitting on HIM!? Please, that wreck must have knocked something loose or somethin, if there was one thing the lanky blonde knew, it was that his ugly mug wasn’t attractive to no one but abusive alcoholics. Pausing, he looked the guy over once more, peeking under his lashes and verified that, no, the guy didn’t seem the type to get as shit faced as his mother’s boyfriend. Or, he had to assume he didn’t, couldn’t judge a book by its cover and all that.

“What, I some kinda dog now?” He snorted, forcing a roll of his eyes but the heated look that guy gave him as he looked over the teen’s thin frame almost appreciatively had him clamming up real good.

“….ya into auldies? Thas fine by me, I could use a pet. Ya know ‘ow ta sit pretty, speak, maybe fetch ah bone…?” Kraglin’s face was absolutely on fire, not quite understanding what kind of sexual game this was turning into, but the confused arousal rolling in his gut had his body tensing, only able to wheeze out a squeak, eyes big as plates. That reaction must have been what the guy was looking for, because he smirked, soft and almost inviting, and tilted his head as he continued, voice a bit lower, a bit of husk in there.

“Aye can find ye a bone ta lick at aftah yer not boggin’ no mar. Beats jus a chug, doint it now?” Those dark eyes were searching over the teen’s face, taking in his reactions and sweat was beginning to collect under his pits as he hunched his shoulders and looked to the ground, face near ready to blow off at this rate. Kraglin had never heard such dirty talk before, and fuck this may be a bit enticing and hot but he was underage and there was a doctor present, back door one or not…!!

Tullk must have gathered that the blonde wouldn’t be talking anymore and, with a chuckle, he turned to said doctor and gave him a smile.

“Was tha damage, doc?” The man in question had dark skin and a good few facial piercings, hair cut short and an expensive ring with a sigil on his thumb. Definitely some kind of mob thing, he was sure. Checking over to his host he spotted the same sort of ring on his middle finger and suddenly found it a bit hard to swallow. He jumped from the boiling pot into the fire, it seemed, with this situation.

“Gonna have to set it back into place, won’t take but a second but i don’t have any sedatives, just some OxyContin. Think you can sit through it, boy?” He turned to Kraglin who had to take a moment to work up enough spit to wet his dry lips and answer, mouth flapping a moment before his face set into determination and he just settled on giving a nod. The doctor studied him a bit and must have seen something there because he gave a nod and pulled out cast material as well as an unlabeled bottle of pills. Knowing this was probably going to hurt like a mother fucker, the teen straightened his back and blinked when Tullk stood up. He opened his mouth to ask what he was gonna do but squawked when he was lifted as if he weighed nothing, (probably more true then Kraglin wanted to admit), and set the teen onto his lap with ease, lifting his forearm to his cracked lips. Confusion hit Kraglin and he tried to turn to look at the host of this swanky home and medical set up, but he froze when breath washed over his neck, body giving an involuntary shiver.

“Bite meh arm, boy. C’nt ave ya screamin’, in too good a neighborhood fer that. C’mon, then. Show me ‘ow sharp yer teeth are.” This felt some what sick, like he should feel disgusted doing such a thing to a man he didn’t even know. What if he had a blood disease, what if he turned into the monsters his mother dated..? But this felt like some kind of test and he took a deep breath as the doctor removed his makeshift cast, stared hard straight ahead, and pressed his teeth against flesh.

It was only a moment before the doctor braced a hand on his wrist and another on his elbow and, with a sharp yank, snapped the bone into the right place with a sickening wet crack. Searing hot pain was all he knew and he didn’t realize he had sank his teeth into the flesh of the guy behind him until he tasted the strong tang of blood exploding over his tongue, knowing he should spit it out but the pain was so intense and, more disconcerting, something deep rooted in himself took pleasure in the taste of it. It made his head go all dizzy as, through some sort of haze, he felt wet bandages being wrapped around his bruising arm, blood that had been blocked rising to the surface, and a gentle hand carding through his greasy matted mohawk. He tried to relax, breathing fast through his nose and body trembling with the struggle not to just scream, tears leaking out of his eyes like he was some brat being comforted by his daddy. But what could have been seen as creepy just felt gentle and right, actually helping Kraglin register the pain and compartmentalize it instead of focusing on that alone, finding himself appreciating the help Tullk was offering up to him. 

The doctor finished sooner then Kraglin had assumed he would, dazedly thinking the guy must have some sort of fast moving hands as the items were put back into a roll and placed into a duffle bag. Then, he popped the cap on the pill bottle and held out two white tablets. Tullk wasted no time in thanking the guy and, after accepting the pills, reached into his pocket to pull out some cash to slap in the guy’s hand, other arm still locked between the sobbing teen’s jaws. Not seeming to even mind the pain of a pretty harsh bite, he waved the doctor off with a soft “See ya later, Narblik.” The sound of footsteps and then a door shutting registered in Kraglin’s brain but he found himself too overwhelmed to care. He was crying, like some baby, and this guy who had rescued him, paid to help his arm, and was even seeming to take some odd interest in him was probably disgusted by the sight of it. He expected to be told how pathetic he looked, to get demands shouted at him for Kraglin to pay the guy back and get the fuck out of his home. But the guy in question just remained where he was, free arm lifting, thumb rubbing gentle against his jaw as he went right back to shooshing him softly. It took a few minutes for the teen to compose himself, sobs trailing off into hiccups and trembles receding enough for him to calm down a bit and think. The pain was still horrid, but not near as bad as it had been those days he walked with it all dangling and awkward. The thumb rubbing at his jaw slid to the hinge of the bone and began to gently push, brain supplying that the guy probably wanted his arm back.

“Thassit, good boy.” He murmured as Kraglin opened his mouth, shivering at the pet name opening his mouth obediently when those pain pills were pressed to his lips. The taste was sour and automatically dried his tongue up, swallowing as best he could without some kind of drink to was it down. Tullk hummed out appreciatively, murmuring another praise that had Kraglin swallow a second time, lifting a hand to tiredly scrub at his face. He had just woken up only an hour ago and he already felt exhausted, knowing the pain of his arm and the sunburn on his back was sucking most of his energy out of his body, and all of this sudden attention from a total stranger had him feeling extremely drained. He licked his mouth and smeared some blood from his lower lip, gaze remaining on the ground in a cocktail of shame and embarrassment. 

“Ima drew a baf. Don’ move, li’l pup.” He practically cooed, Kraglin barely squeaking when he was lifted once more and settled gently back onto the kitchen chair by himself, left to his own devices as Tullk strode off to do, what the teen could only assume, what he had stated and filled a bathtub with water. Water that wouldn’t come from worryingly rusted pipes… Wouldn’t smell strongly of iron and carry a murky nickel color no matter if you boiled it before hand. A bath that would be piping hot and warm and inviting and Kraglin curled over himself, hugging his long grasshopper legs to his chest, and just began to sob once more. He felt so overwhelmed, all that he had done back at home, all the pain he had been through. The fear filling him as the adrenaline finally left and he just broke down, biting his knuckles to try and contain his wails, hot tears rushing down his gaunt cheeks. Tullk must have heard him and had given him a minute because he only decided to show up when the teen was about drained of any tears, staring down at the nice and shiny hardwood floor silently, uninjured hand tracing patterns absently over the fresh cast. He’d never broken a real bone before, though he’d been jumped plenty of times to assume the next time it would happen, surprised by how little it hurt now that the cast was in place. Big hands that were rough from whatever sketchy work the guy did pet his mohawk once more, bringing him back to the present and his lids fluttered tiredly as he tilted his head into the touch, taking a shaky breath.

“‘M okay..not weak…” He mumbled almost to himself and Tullk gave a soft twitch of the corner of his scarred mouth and shook his head of dreads.

“Notta clue whatya been trew. But I’m sure yer far from weak, pup. Maybe one day we can trade tales over drinks…” He promised before he stood and held a hand out in offering for Kraglin to take. “Fer naw…les get ya cleaned up an ya can tell meh how close I am ta adult’ry. Ye?” He gave a cheeky smirk and helped the blonde to his feet, cheeks hot but the beginning of a genuine smile twitching at the corners of his face, the sight of it earning a larger smile from the older male. “Rait, dar ya go. Come…I’ll ‘elp ya in.”

That offering had a bit of panic rising to Kraglin’s chest and he fell silent, gaze falling back to the floor and Tullk regarded him silently a moment before he gently led the gangly teen into a nice, large bathroom, a clawfoot tub sitting off to the side full of nice steaming water, bubbles covering the soup of scents and oils a good two inches thick and the sight of it was something Kraglin would only dream of owning. Knew he should be excited about the prospect of getting into such a blessing of a bath, but all he could do was stand off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, as he shifted from foot to foot. His eyes kept flickering about the room, not landing on Tullk nor the fresh pair of clothes set out for him, but he felt like he was going to be sick. The older male took a slow step towards him, reached hands out to offer help with him undressing, but he froze when the teen flinched.

“Somethin’ wrong..? I aven’t ‘urt ya, ave I…? Is jus a bath, promise, all dat flirtin’, don’t mean a shite. I-“

“No, I…’s not..I jus….” He swallowed and he felt so lost when Tullk took a step closer and looked his body over like he could see right past his clothes. Like he could see right through him and the understanding and awareness in it had Kraglin feel like running. Fight or flight was the only real instinct the teen had other then killing, and right now, he knew he wouldn’t win a fight with Tullk. So his body tensed, ready to bolt, but he stayed right where he was. Whether his legs just weren’t listening or something in him was desperate to have someone know his secret, understand what he carried with him every day… Either way, he remained stock still and gave the smallest of nods.

A hand reached out, slow, as to not spook him, and ran very gently over his chest, lower to his pants, hesitating at the button there. He inhaled sharp and tensed, eyes shutting tight as they were slowly undone, the sound of the zipper being pulled down deafening in Kraglin’s ears, and his nails cut into the cast as the only material between this older man who was practically a stranger and his biggest secret, the worst thing in his life, fell to the floor in a mute shuffle of fabric. He didn’t hear a gasp or a laugh like he expected, eyes flying open and blinking in confusion as he was coaxed out of his tank top as well and the small smile Tullk had on his face, no shock or disgust, just acceptance and understanding had the boy trembling with relief.

“Y..how’d you…? Wa-was it..my voice, did I..did I act like..?” Tullk shook his head, lifting Kraglin just as easy as earlier and lowered him into the bath, making sure the casted arm hung over the outside of the tub and couldn’t get wet. The water was near searing his sensitive sunburns but it felt so good and perfect and he felt overwhelmed all over again, thankful he had no more tears to cry at the moment. His scottish host took a seat on a stool beside the tub, shifting to get comfortable before he turned to regard the teen.

“Ye may ‘ave grew up in tha boonies… but yer not tha only person aye’ve met ta ‘aren’t tha bells an whistles that match their ‘art. Ain’t gross or odd. Not ‘ere. Yer safe.” He promised softly and Kraglin let out an exhale the felt like a bit of his soul left with it.

“Ow long ya been on T..?” That question surprised the teen and he blinked owlishly at the older man, shaking his head slowly.

“I ain’t ever taken nothin’ fer it. Never had tha money fer food let alone medical shit.” He felt the guy’s eyes on him, waiting patiently for more, and after a few silent seconds, Kraglin decided to give it to him. “…I was always scrawny, never ‘ad tha fear of hidin’ tits or nothin’ like that…always been flat, though some times, o..on mah period, they swell up a bit..” He chewed his lips as if chewing on his next words, mulling them over a moment. “Voice is deep cus of accidentally inhaling smoke whens I was a brat and my mom almost burnt the house down. Fell asleep with a cigarette in her hand.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Always thought i…it were obvious..what I am..?”

He glanced up to Tullk who seemed to actually be intrigued by this information, swallowing thickly and ducking his head between his shoulders as a flush dusted over his cheeks.

“An ‘ow did ya get where I fount ya? Ow old are ya, anyway? Can’t be more tan twenty. Thas too young ta be stranded on ta road.” Kraglin swallowed and averted his gaze guiltily, scratching his neck, wanting to just hide in the bubbles. He mumbled something unintelligible, Tullk arching a brow and leaning closer to the teen.

“Come again?”

“Gotta work for tha first orgasm first..”

“Ya brat.”

“Thoughts I was yer dog.”

“Fuck, kid-“

“Say please an maybe-“

“KRAGLIN. Kid. Serious. What ya say.”

Kraglin swallowed thick and, after shifting about and taking another deep breath, he glanced to the side and murmured sullenly.

“..I’ll be eighteen in four months…”

Tullk inhaled deeply, watching the teen, hopeful for him to say he was joking, but when the blonde remained silent and sullen, the dreaded man groaned loudly and scrubbed his face.

“Seventeen, seven… Damn near’ did go trew adualt’ry. Fuck.” He took a deep breath and shook his head, gaze lifting up to Kraglin who was gulping thickly and looking like he was trying to get his shoulders to swallow his head entirely. He watched the kid for a moment, looked down at the floor, then shook his head and chuckled softly.

“Guess we can jus be friends fer that long.” He declared with a hint of amusement and the warmth that spread through the blonde’s chest had him smile, small and dopey, the lopsided grin directed at the bubbles and he heard a laugh from Tullk.

Maybe..this would be an okay place to stay at for a while..afterall, he could leave anytime he wanted…


	4. Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu realizes he's in deeper shit then he assumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Abuse, Fucky, Blood, Stalking
> 
> Song: Gasoline-Halsey

The hustle and bustle of the days keeps Yondu busy, waking early in the morning to tip toe around Taser’s thick wall of a body snoring away in his bed, nose scrunching as he mentally sets a reminder to wash his furs and sheets when he gets back home. He heads out for the day, meeting a client to do a little nookie in the bathroom of a high end restaurant half way through their meal, leaving the place with a cheshire grin and a pocket heavier with cash then when he left. He leaves that place feeling pretty good about himself, bounce in his step and cum still churning in his gut from swallowing and he comes across a cute couple trying to pick out a mattress at one of the large overpriced home stores. Swaggering up like he hasn’t a care in the world, he leans against one of the mattresses like he’s about to get pounded from behind, smirking over his shoulder and making a crude joke about how he could help the couple break the bed in. Two hours later and he’s balls deep in a cunt, husband fucking her throat as she screams and moans around it. Two orgasms and eleven hundred bucks exchanged later and he has jelly for legs and a grin on his face that nothing could wipe away.

The sun is setting and he’s excited to get back to his room, clean the place and himself up a little, and then maybe he could get a spot on that stage. He hadn’t danced in quite a while, injured his back from too much..extra curricular activities about a year ago, but he was feeling good and healthy again. And he was ready to shake his ass and maybe seduce a few new regular clients into his bed for the night. Taser was grounded from getting any sort of pleasure from him, fucker choked him way too hard when he hadn’t been in the mood for it, had some pretty deep bruises on his throat for it. Weren’t too bad, last time it happened the male had blacked out and woke up with a busted artery turning his eye all red. Would look cool if his eyes were red for real, but Stakar took one look at it and got all huffily, demanded Yondu tell him if it had been consensual. Said it was, had no problem lying to him, or anyone else for that matter. He weren’t weak, could take care of hisself and a little bit of roughness was something he could handle. Had been through way worse. Hell, compared to the shit that he went through as a kid, Taser was being down right vanilla and delicate with him. So what if he got a little too into his games of ‘red light means stop, but tonight I’m a fire truck so I just proceed with caution’, or some bullshit like that. Was why the asshat was grounded to the couch down in the lobby.

Pulling out a cigar and taking a long drag, he paused when he saw a tall lanky fuck stride through the crowd of elites across the street. Most would think he were minding his own business, but that dark brown mohawk of hair bobbing about didn’t distract Yondu, a professional at the downright dirty side of life, to miss the slights of hands he pulled with every person he passed. An earring here, a wallet there, even some objects straight from the shopping bags of goodies they had just recently purchased. Weren’t better then a few folks he knew, but he had to admit the kid was good. He tilted his head as the pasty guy seemed to pick up his pace, smiling all goofy with love at an older fella with grey dreads and a face tat. Nose scrunching in disgust at the affectionate displays of the guy offering one of the stolen shinies to the man, he jumped when a hand clapped onto his shoulder, shooting a snarl around to a frozen HalfNut.

“S-sorry, Yondu..!! Was just excited cus I haven’t seen you in a few days and Stakar said the ‘Captain’ was gonna perform tonight and I was real excited for it and just HAD to come over and tell you exactly that!! And a ton of other people are super excited for it, too, I mean, you even got a gift at the front desk! It was addressed to you- ‘Yondu Udonta, with love’, it read, and I-“ Yondu had turned back around, trying to ignore the excitable jabberings of Nut as he scouted the crowd for that awkwardly tall guy and his old man boyfriend with no such luck. They must have ditched. Shame, they could have made good clients, but if it had such mushy feelings involved, Yondu didn’t want a part of that. Idiots were probably Monogamous or some shit like that, too. He froze when he caught the last part of what Nut said, swinging back around like a whip, grabbing handfuls of his shirt to yank him close enough to smell his sex breath.

“Someone sent a letter with mah las name one it..!? Who the hell would do that, no one ain’t supposed to know it. Everyone but Stakar and this crew know my last name, go by ‘Captain Yondu’ everywhere else. Who the fuck sent it..!?” He snarled and Nut’s face split into a huge grin as he just laughed away as if this information wasn’t shit. As if someone knowing Yondu’s full name wasn’t dangerous, could get him in some deep shit. If someone knew your full name they’d try to own you.

He shoved the idiot away from him, watching his ridiculously styled hair sway about him as he stormed on past and into the club, ‘Eclector’ shining bright even in the light of the setting sun. Normally walking under it would make him feel a wash of belonging, but his sour mood just had him feeling enraged and like he had a target on his back. He cussed up a storm under his breath, ridiculously long leather coat snapping around his ankles as he stepped up to the ‘front desk’, AKA, the bar. Nostrils flaring, he slammed a hand onto the counter, finding some twisted glee in watching Oblo jump a tad before he shot a sour look to the bald guy. 

“Hey to you too, Cap-“

“Nut said I had a package. Where is it?” He spat, not even bothering to let his friend carry the light banter they usually made this time of day, too panicked with what the last name debacle could mean for him and his safety. Humming with acknowledgment, Oblo turned around and ruffled around in the personal bin for a bit before procuring a small rectangle box wrapped in shiny gold paper. Just as Nut had described to Yondu’s horror, on it read ’To Yondu R. Udonta. With Love. Your Soulmate.’ The very context of the present had bile rising to trap itself in Yondu’s throat, thankful his gullet had tightened with shock, making it much easier to swallow the puke back down to where it rightfully belonged. Fuck. He needed to talk to Stakar…

Snatching the box up with as he ground his teeth hard enough to feel sparks fly, he hurried through the third floor of the club with a deadly purpose, stopping at the door of where the owners resided. Not even bothering to knock or any polite shit like that, maybe underhandedly paying the two back for the many times they had held the same courtesy to him, he burst through their bedroom door and prided himself on not flinching when he walked in on Aleta, strap on tightened into place, going to town drilling deep into Stakar’s ass. The schlorps of adequate lubricant had him pinching his face and he turned around quick with a growl of frustration.

“Pants on, y’all can fuck later. Somethin’ serious came up.” He snapped, grinding his teeth as Aleta decided to give a good few deep grinds into the male to cause him to wheeze in approval before she pulled out, the bitch. He wouldn’t be able to get that sound out of his mind for months unless he drank himself to a stupor… At this rate, that idea was sounding more and more promising by the minute…

“This got to do with those bruises?” Stacker called, stroking himself languidly before tugging a robe around his naked frame, eyeing the dubious marks around his sort-of-son’s neck with a sour like expression. Something akin to him eating a whole lemon raw and being real pissed about it. Aleta, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care much about it, simply standing there in all her nude glory, dildo dripping lube and bodily fluids onto the floor. Pulling a face childishly in disgust, Yondu shook his head, flicked the old man off, and tossed the box to the box to the bed before crossing his arms, seeing both Ogord’s faces shift into dark intent.

“When’d ya get this?” He demanded, Yondu giving a shrug.

“Far as I know? While I was out working today. Nut gave me the heads up soon as I got back.” He growled, arms tightening across his chest, head ducking down self consciously when they eyed his throat bruises as if that had to do with it. Fuckers flogged and whipped one another, was just hypocritical to get all pissy when Yondu got all marked up.

“Any idea who this admirer is..?” Aleta offered instead of asking about the marks and Yondu was thankful that she knew to avoid such conversations unless the shorter guy was drunk and offered such answers willingly with the push of liquor.

“Think I got one lead. Some client I had a few months back. Real head over heels type, called out my name all loving like last time we fucked. Deleted and blocked him soon as I left, ain’t seen him since, though. Think he’s out dar keepin’ tabs on me..?” He began to pace the room, nerves buzzing in his system, making him feel jittery and claustrophobic. He paused after the third pass, staring into the distance as he thought for a bit. “Come ta think of it..I been feeling like I was being followed tha past few weeks..hairs on tha back of my neck standing up, shit like that. Fuck, I can’t have someone blackmailing me, that fucker is gonna regret it.” He snarled and Stakar gave a nod of agreement as he opened the box and froze.

“Son, did ya look in here?” Yondu blinked, slowly stepping closer as he shook his head, reaching a hand out when he got closer to that bed covered in Ogord cum then he would ever be okay with. “Nah. Was so startled ‘bout the message I didn’t think ta open it.” He admitted grudgingly, looking inside to find a golden ring and a small note that read ’To my little Arrow Boy, pretty as an angel.” This time Yondu did get sick, doubling over and ejecting the food and booze he had partaken in topped off with jizz and touch of drugs all over their nice fancy, albeit stolen, carpet. Fuck. This couldn’t be happening, why, after so many years…!? Why NOW..!?? His body trembled as he stared unblinkingly at the now messed up floor, barely registering as Stakar gently helped him find his ass into a chair. The room was deafening silent for a while, Aleta calling someone to come clean the mess as Stakar paced about the room, calculated and fuming. Yondu hated how very weak he felt, like the very night he had been saved by the Ogords, given freedom.

“That name..Arrow…was yer name back when..before we found ya, yeah..?” The male asked in that gruff voice of his, gaze flickering to look the scarred male over who could barely handle a soft nod. He cursed loudly at the confirmation, going right back to pacing. After a moment, he turned to the male, pointing a finger at him with a serious look.

“Yer gonna have to stay here for the next few days. Lay low, no leaving what so ever until I can get some help from Marty and Charlie. However, for the time being. Only fresh meat as clients, no repeats. Use protection, even if they show STI test results. And, above all, no letting them spend the night. Inform me if you see anything off, I’ll keep in touch on if I find anything.” He gave a nod, completely ignoring the look of anger Yondu wore, chest puffing up and lips pursed as he prepared to shout. But a knock kept him from speaking, eyes shooting to the open door to find some of the fresher guys of the dark side of the street waving, bucket and mop in hand. Stakar was already back at the bed talking quietly with Aleta and Yondu gave a frustrated growl before he turned around sharply and stormed off in the direction of his own room.

Like fuck could they ground him, he weren’t some little brat, he was almost thirty for shit’s sakes. He shoved his way past people milling about before the shows began and he stopped in his tracks when he heard one of his songs begin to play over the speakers, lower tooth catching on his lip in a nasty grin as the bass of the tune pumped away in his veins. He gonna be stuck here for a while? Fine. He could enjoy himself without stepping foot out of this club, no problem. He stomped his way into his bathroom, barking orders to get him a set ready in fifteen before he slammed his door closed and practically threw himself into his closet for something to catch his eye. Settling on one of his old favorites, a pair of sparkling red bootyshorts that adoringly read ‘Ya Nasty?’ on the asscheeks, a black tank top, and some leather pants so tight he’d have to cut them to get them off. Perfect. He liked adding weapons into his performances, anyway…

He jumped into the shower before the water could even heat up, adrenaline running wild through him like good drugs during a long night of partying. He bounced on the balls of his feet, water swirling down the drain, cum and sweat merging into clear water and churning about like a hurricane during a storm. He pursed his lips and began to whistle, low and sweet, practicing tunes and rolling tweets. It’d been what felt like ages since the male had performed in the sense of on the stage. Selling sex with the roll of the hips and a heated glance, getting himself hot and heavy in a way that was almost like edging himself as he rocked to the beat of the music. He missed it desperately and the prospect of actually getting to be the one up on that stage, gain full attention from all in the club. It was giving him a high no mushroom or liquor could rival. 

He emerged from the bathroom just five minutes later, cleaning coming easy and natural to him. Hell, with the kind of career he carried, he often bathed three times or more in a single day. Knowing how to scrape cum from your innards in under a minute was like one of his hidden talents. Drying his freshly shaved head, he paused in the doorway, face scrunching in a scowl and mood automatically souring at the sight of Taser reclining in his bed, grin as rank as the rest of him.

“‘ey bab-“

“Get da fuck outta my room.” He didn’t even allow the large oaf to finish, turning his back on the man as he worked his way into the booyshorts, squatting down as he adjusted his testicles a few times to assure they wouldn’t be squashed in the wrong places during his performance before he set to the daunting task of squeezing his toned thighs and ass into the tight leather pants. When he didn’t hear the sounds of Taser leaving, he zipped his pants and spun back around, chest puffed and lower jaw ticked out a tad farther then was normal, posturing like a pissed off dog as he glared sharply at the man. He raised a hand, pointing to the deep bruises on his neck. Taser watched on, unimpressed, as if he wasn’t the one who had done that and that Yondu had just always had purple and yellow marks on his skin.

“Ya don’t look sorry fer this shit. Now I got Stakar breathin’ down my neck ‘bout it! Yer not allowed in here or anywhere near me ’til I says so, goddit!? Now GIT.” He hissed vehemently, turning back around sharply and watched through the reflection of the mirror as Taserface’s expression turned dark, face mottled with rage. By some odd blessing from above, instead of starting a fist fight like what the asshole would normally do, he seemed to understand that doing such a thing while Stakar was involved would be the dumbest shit to do since the time he near blew up one of the rooms. Staring Yondu down for a few more heated moments, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door hard enough to shake the foundation and Yondu released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. His hands were trembling and he had no idea why, blamed it on the adrenaline from a narrowly missed argument and the promise of a good show that night. Pressing fingers to his throat to gently prod the tender flesh, he wiped some dust from his eyes and steeled himself. Couldn’t go out there with no red rimmed eyes, didn’t look good and not as many people were into junkies these days as they used to be…

 

 

By the time he got down to the main floor, he had stopped to down two or three shots and was practically buzzing with excitement, blue eyes skating about to take in the clientele, check out what was on the menu for him tonight. He wouldn’t mind getting two or three into his bed, but his gaze paused when he saw someone that looked a tad familiar. Grayish dreads, tattoo on one side of his face, and a deadly look to him that made Yondu’s blood rush south mighty fast. Maybe that kid weren’t anyone important after all, hell, guy could be his papa for all he knew. Only thing he cared about, though? Seducing that guy to paying out a few hundred for a crazy night with the hottest piece of ass in this place. Mind made up, he set a nasty grin to his face, swaggering up to the guy like they’d known one another for years, hands sliding up to tug at his jacket, acting as if he were straightening it out as he looked the guy up and down, appreciating the red color of the leather. Though the coat wasn’t all that he found approval in, those scars up close and the way the guy filled his black undershirt up was real nice looking. A glint of gold caught his attention as he gaze flickered to land on a ring that sat on this stranger’s middle finger, smile turning sharp as he recognized the sigil there. Gang member. Jackpot, definitely his type.

“Who might you be, stranger..?” He practically purred, peeking up from his lashes all pretty like, pleased to see the older male blush a bit and give a smirk of his own.

“Name’s Tullk. And you, boy?” Yondu chucked, deep and husky, taking a step closer into the guy’s personal space to press chest to chest to the man. He smelled clean, fresh linen and sandalwood from some sort of soap or shaving cream and it sent a thrill down his spine, rolling his shoulders like a feline on the prowl. 

“Ain’t no boy, but if calling someone baby gets ya off, I can definitely do that fer ya. Name’s Cap’n….but pet names work..?” He winked, feeling those muscles bunch up under his fingertips and his cock gave a little jump of approval. He definitely chose right… He paused in his flirting when Stakar’s voice come on over the speakers of the club, ignoring the near exasperated tone as he read what the younger male had written for him to say.

“Next on our list of devilish dancers, we have someone who is coming back into the swing of things after a long few months of sitting down on the bench. Welcome the ass who helped put this club on the map, Cap’n Yondu, get yer ass up here.” 

A wide grin put Yondu’s gold and silver capped teeth on display, taking a step back and blowing a kiss at his future customer before turning to see his adopted old man giving him a look that warned him not to get in trouble and to remember that he was on house arrest. Fun sucking bastard… No matter, he didn’t need to go anywhere to have a good time, that was for sure…

Walking up to the platform like he owned the place, which he damned near did, he leapt up to the stage without an issue, whistles and catcalls filling the buzzing room as his muscles bunched and shifted under scarred up flesh as he made a show of stretching his arms above his head, black tank top lifting to flash a sliver of tan skin before he cracked his neck. Licking his lips, eyes hooded as he sought out the gaze of the tatted up man, he pursed his lips and whistled, low and pretty, the tune melding with the beat that began to play overhead. Bass and guitar thrummed through his body, hips beginning to bump and sway to the song, having picked an old favorite of his. As ‘Come a Little Bit Closer’ blasted around him, he smirked all dark as he began to lift the tank over his head, gyrating his hips as if pseudo fucking someone with upwards thrusts, the sight causing onlookers to howl their approval. Yondu enjoyed the praise and attention, body getting all hot from it, truth be told, he was quite the exhibitionist, though Stakar always turns down his offers to put on a live sex performance. The downright hunger in that older man’s eyes as he watched him dance, though..? That was far more intoxicating, finding a sick pleasure in watching those dark pupils blow wide as he pulls out his knife and gets to work on cutting himself out of his leather pants as he arches and dips, crouching on his knees with a lick of his lips over his canines when the last pieces of fabric fall to the stage.

He was painfully hard at this part, but that was okay, the song was beginning to wind down, come to an end. He cupped himself vulgarly as he turned around, bouncing his ass about a little in a playful twerk, but not quite to full bouncing mode. Just enough to get the ‘Ya Nasty?’ bootyshorts to grow taut around the globes of his ass before he sent a smirk and a wink to the crowd, mouthing ‘My room.’ To the older man that looked about ready to jump onto that stage and take him then and there. The want that fell off the man in waves had a shiver settling in Yondu’s spine, eyes on the prize as he dipped out. He collected the dollars that had been thrown to him as tips and payment, and barely had time to scramble some sweat pants on before he hurried up the steps, finding this ’Tullk’ man already leaning against his door, arms crossed and pants looking a tad tighter then when he first looked the guy over. Unable to hold himself back, he slams the guy against the door, attacking his mouth with a hunger he hadn’t felt in quite a while, groaning when he felt teeth worry at his lower lip and he fumbled to get his door unlocked and open. The moment they stepped inside, he was lifted to straddle the older man, back hitting his mattress and spine arching up to chase Tullk’s body heat as the guy ripped his leather jacket off and attacked Yondu’s throat with bites and kisses, wrangling a weak groan from the younger male. His heart pounded hard in his chest and he barely had time to yank his sweatpants off, not bothering to get up to unplug the christmas lights that littered his room before he shoved the guy onto his back and began to work his pants open. He gave a rumbled purr of approval at what he found, licking up the underside of his cock all nice and slow, tongue swirling around the head in a practiced motion that had Tullk knocking his head back and grunting with approval. The younger male fumbled in his bedside drawer for lube, too busy to notice the flicker of a camera going off through his window.

 

The next morning found Yondu groaning, smile sliding cheshire like on his face at the aches of a good fuck settling over his body. He blinked his eyes open to find his room empty, pleased when he spotted a couple of hundreds laid out on his dresser and he stood up to swagger over and count it. He absently wondered if he could meet the guy again some time, scratching his ass idly and stashing the money into a shoe box with all the other cash he’s been saving up. A sharp pounding on his door caught him off guard, giving a roll of his eyes in annoyance as he padded over with a yawn. He barely had the time to open the door and ask what whoever it was wanted before a fist was flying out, head snapping to the side and pain blossoming over his face as his tooth caught onto his top lip, busting it open. Strong hands gripped his shoulders harsh, loud screams of anger barely piercing the cotton in his ears as blood began to gush down his face. His mind was not registering Taser up in his face, spittle flying as he hissed out slurs and hurtful names. Instead it was on an emotional overdrive, confusion and hurt flashing over his features before he could stop them, chest seizing up all cruel as the bigger man looked him over and sneered in disgust. Yondu knew he should shout, should fight back, but panic was beginning to course through him and his hands trembled as he tried to make his mouth work, ask what was wrong. What he had done to deserve such anger, such violence.

His senses took over not a moment later, rage leaving the bald man snarling, trying to throw a fist of his own, fronting that he wasn’t effected by such abusive behavior, but it was all a ruse. Taser had seen that minute of panic. Of heartbreak and need. That sick sense that he deserved such treatment, how weak he was without someone there forcing him to be strong. Halfnut and Oblo hurried in not a few moments later, yanking Taser back, shouting for him to let Yondu go, but unable to pull him away in time before another fist clipped his jaw, something cracking in a very unpleasant way and the next thing the scarred up man knew, he was crumpled on the floor, holding his face tightly as his breathing entered and left him in short succession. His lower jaw was not moving, locked in an awkward position no matter how he tried to move it, and when he looked up Stakar was over him, anger and worry in his eyes. But that wasn’t what caught Yondu’s attention. What did was pictures in the man’s hand. Of Yondu and Tullk fucking, along with a few photos of previous clients as well. He was being blackmailed and his sort of not boyfriend just beat him up for no reason at all. ‘Abusive. Always has been.’ his mind supplied and tears burned his face without his permission, overwhelmed with everything happening at the moment. He could take a few hits, this weren’t nothing new, he wasn’t weak. Could take care of himself.. ’Then why do you feel so small?’ That voice whispered to him and he choked on his next breath, inhale caught in his throat.

His sight began to wane a bit, edges getting dark and room around him spinning. The floor tilted at an odd angle and his body locked up as he began to hyperventilate, wheezing Stakar’s name weakly as his throat began to close up. Breathing was hard, living was hard, everything was hard and he just wanted it all to end. Stakar’s face was the last thing he saw before everything went blank, and what he saw there was the last thing he ever wanted to see. Stakar was afraid.


	5. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin tries to get closer to his new friend and learn about his body. Was originally going to be porn without plot, but Angst is so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Trans character, dysphoria, sexual assault
> 
> Song: Blue-Halsey

The past four months were better then the past seventeen years Kraglin has lived. He thought it might be weird living with a stranger who was near old enough to be his dad in some weird way, but they made enough jokes about it to make it entertaining. Outside of the dirty one liners and sneaking peeks whenever one or the other was changing, things stayed relatively relaxed and they got along surprisingly well. The first few days were rough, finding the teen in a bit of a depression, laying in a curled up ball on the couch doing nothing but watching soap operas and eating junk food. It was pathetic and childish and all he ever wanted to do for the rest of his life. After about a week of eating everything in the fridge that want mustard, Tullk declared it was about time he kept up his own allowance, employing the blonde to work with him. Not a member of his gang, just a side worker, he promised.

The first job was simple. Learning to pick pocket. Kraglin was surprised to find he was relatively great at it, even with one arm in a cast. His long fingers slipping in and out of purses and coats without a notice, deciding to dye his hair back brown so that he wouldn’t stand out too much in the crowd. Be as inconspicuous as he could, and hey. in the first month of his training, he had only gotten caught twice and those big innocent eyes and gaunt face of his got him empathy and some dollar bills in response. They worked on his technique a little but there wasn’t much to stealing small objects or jewels. No, the bigger test was when he played distraction for a heist across town, acting as an innocent victim being pummeled by some thick jawed, mustached man by the name of ‘Retch’. The gang made off with a couple million’s worth of jewels that were sold to clientele across the state within hours, no way to track it to them. The job was exhilarating, guns and undercover work, even though he didn’t really do any of the heavy lifting, But hey! At least the teen’s own payout of it was plenty to set some aside for savings and purchase his first few months of Testosterone.

It came in a clear bottle, rubber topped so as you could stick a needle in it and not have to use a different bottle each dose, storing it in the fridge where Kraglin could grin at it anytime he went to get a beer. The first day it came in, the thin male was practically bouncing about, bringing it to Tullk with big eyes, begging him to give him the shot, to teach him how to so he could administer it himself eventually. Something curious and hungry flashed over the older man’s face at the offer and it caused Kraglin to squirm with more then adrenaline as he took a seat, shucked his pants to his knees, and inhaled sharply as the needle went into his flesh. His breath hitched at the sharp pain, endorphins rushing into his body along with the small dose of T, and his gaze flickered up to meet Tullk’s who was regarding him with something he couldn’t name. His mouth suddenly felt very dry, and he licked over his lips a few times to alleviate the issue, unaware he was slowly leaning towards the male until they were bumping noses and knocking foreheads, lips just inches apart. Their breaths mingled and the teen swallowed as he lent closer, trying to close that minimal distance between them. But Tullk pulled back, cleared his throat, looked away as he said a bit gruffly.

“Don’t do tha kissin’ thing.” Hurt flashed over Kraglin’s face before he could hide it and he gave a weak nod as he forced a smile and a shrug. “No biggy…not that into it myself…” He lied horridly and Tullk opened his mouth, hands up to placate, but the teen stood and left the room before he could say another word. He curled up on the couch, back to the male if he were to pass through the large living room, and pretended to sleep the rest of the night. By morning they were back to acting as usual, though any time a sexual joke was made it was met with tense shoulders and an awkward silence.   
Three more months went by and at that time the lanky teen was getting good at his job, making a bit of his name for himself in the underground. He helped pull two smaller heists, made another thousand, saved up enough to get some gold to plate a few teeth and buy a nice packer. ‘Peacock’, was what they called it. He could piss through it, fuck with it, and what he was most excited to try, masturbate all nice and slow with it. It was the night before his birthday and, house empty and all quiet, that’s exactly what Kraglin found himself doing. Some soap droned on in the background as adrenaline buzzed through the skinny guy’s veins, sucking breath through a gap in his teeth from getting knocked in the face accidentally on a bait and switch, and his blood pressure was beginning to spike and it was causing his heart to beat wildly to try and adjust and compensate. He had just gotten his first vibe, a small little bean of a thing a tad shorter then the length of his finger with some odd animated bunny on it. He had been holding off on using the toy out of fear. He never jerked off much, never had a way to disconnect from what was below the belt, so to speak. And when he got it he had expected himself to go full hog, but he had slammed into a wall right away. He ain’t ever tried to get himself off, wasn’t even sure if he could or not. His mother’s boyfriend had never touched him downstairs, made sure to keep it just to his chest until he was of age, something disturbing involving ‘deflowering’ him that sent a shiver of disgust through his body any time he recalled it. Bottom line was, here he was, laid up on the couch, underwear and sweatpants to his ankles, knobby knees spread and fake dick standing artificially proud. Vibe buzzing quietly in one hand and lube pooled in the palm of his other one, arm healed up real nice from the crash. And he had not a damned clue how to go about this.

He figured most girls would just..stick it in..? But the very idea of that made Kraglin nauseous, so he rejected that option real quick. This would probably be easier if he knew the first clue about vaginas, but being of the situation he was in, he felt it wasn’t too surprising that he never googled ‘How to masturbate with a pussy’ before. Near backing out and not wanting to go a whole nother month without any kind of release, he gave a loud huff of frustration. He knew he got aroused, thighs getting uncomfortably moist any time he hung around Tullk too long, made too much flirtatious eye contact, but to go..further with it… He licked his lips, eying up the sight before him, and if he squinted, he could almost imagine the dick strapped to his front was real. Almost. 

Swallowing and biting his lower lip, he wrapped his lubed up hand around the base of his pseudo cock, stomach dropping with an empty feeling as he felt nothing from it before he blew a raspberry and rolled his hips upwards slowly, base of the prosthetic grinding against something that sent a jolt of a spark fizzling into the teen’s stomach, dropping to pool hot and heavy in his lower abdomen. “O-Okay, that was a good start, fuck. What now..?” He wheezed, laying his head back. Face beginning to flush a tad, he shifted a little, bringing the vibe to the now slick entrance of his..his what? His balls, cunt..? What should he even call it..!? He shook his head, mentally reprimanding himself for over thinking this before he rolled his hips again, that same bubble of pleasure humming through his body and he pressed the vibe higher, pliant lips giving way to supple pink flesh, the heady smell of his arousal making his nose scrunch. He did notice it was different then it had been at first, more musky. Since the T, he also noticed that a part of his…his junk had began to swell and poke up a bit more, almost like a button at this point, though he had always been too terrified to investigate further. He arched his spine to get a better angle, tongue poking out as he pressed the vibe up against the nub and his thighs jerked at the sudden burst of pleasure sending a shock to his system. A gasp escaped his chest like it got punched out of him, and he almost dropped the toy, fumbling with it for a moment before he sagged into the cushions and tried to catch his breath. 

Sweat was beginning to seep from his pores like slime on a snail and his thighs quivered as he brushed the vibe against that protruding flesh once more, gentle and slow with it, like a teasing lick. His blood seemed to warm from the attention and his lids fluttered closed. The next pass of the vibrating toy and he rolled his hips into his slick palm at the same time, something in his mind clicking as arousal and pleasure startled a breathy groan of approval from the hick’s lips. Mouth falling open, he ground against the toy as his cock rolled into his palm in strokes, alternating between short and long, breath catching whenever the vibe would rub just right and he was beginning to wonder why he’d never done this before. His next moan was broken, near wonton to the point of being embarrassing if he were aware he was making such sounds, and he was far too into it to notice the sounds of the lock clicking open, door swinging shut, the beginning of “Ey, Kraglin, I’m ho-“ before the owner of this humble abode froze in the doorway. No, Kraglin didn’t notice the onlooker until two or three fucks of his cock into his fist, sharp hip bone pressing rough into his arm before his eyes fluttered open and he choked on his spit. Mortified, the teen tries to sit up, but lube shoots his hand out from under him and he falls onto the floor gracelessly, shoulder jarring uncomfortably and vibe rolling under the couch, buzzing away on the hardwood floor. The sound was like one of those bees, the wood ones that carved into anything on your porch, pissing you off without a ting to do to stop them. The sting of which wouldn’t even get Kraglin half as red as he was then, eyes large as he stared at Tullk, flopped on his side, clothes tangled around his ankles, hair a mess and dick just bobbing between his legs.

His gaze flickered around, searching for an exit, but instead his gaze landed onto dark bruises on the tattooed man’s neck. His lips were bruised and when he took a step forward, limped just the slightest, nausea filled the teen. He felt sick. He felt like a joke. The whisper about not doing kissing felt artificial to his ears now, the lie so blatant that he felt stupid for believing it then and for wanting so desperately for it to be the truth even now. He flinched when the male took another step, arms throwing up like he was about to get hit. Like Tullk was going to lash out like his mother’s boyfriend would, but this time he was being hurt with words instead of fists. His throat worked around words that wouldn’t come.

A look of discomfort settled over Tullk and Kraglin’s mood dropped farther into self loathing, jaw clenching as he looked away and tried his best to get his pants back on, mentally brating himself for being so stupid as to begin to trust someone so easily. The universe just had to fuck him over, didn’t it. Any time he was feeling good, feeling safe, he just had to be reminded that he was alone no matter how surrounded by people he was. He didn’t see the guilt or resignation pass over the older man’s face, too busy trying to abscond as fast as his grasshopper legs could take him, but he startled when a hand landed on his knee. The limb trembled and he sucked in a breath of air, body tensing, ready for the rejection to come. It had been building up lately, the teen could feel it. Ever since that near kiss, any time things got intimate or teasing, even flirting, had the older male clamming up like no one’s business and it really confused the teen. Those first few hours he had been here, the guy seemed so interested in him. At first, he wondered if it had to do with his age, but then he couldn’t help but fall on his go to insecurities. The cunt out in the open, shiny with slick and face hot as he tried to blink away his tears of embarrassment and frustration. Jesus, his life was far more cringe worthy then the shows he watched on the television. 

“Don’ let me ’nturrupt ya. Go on, lad.” His voice was gruff and if Kraglin closed his eyes and wished hard enough, he could pretend it was from arousal and not from the forced tone coming from his throat. He inhaled sharp, shook his head, made to get up once more, but rough hands pushed him back down. Frozen and lost, unsure as to what to do now, his mind was swimming with fears and thoughts, that small voice in his head telling him he had fucked it all up. Tullk hovered over his tall frame, looking him over with an intensity that made the teen squirm about uncomfortably. Reaching under the couch with one arm, he retrieved the lost vibe and, lifting the base of the cock, laid it under it to press against that nub, trapped between flesh and silicone. A wave of pleasure washed over the brunet, mind fogging and unable to create any string of thought as the tattooed man lent forward and wrapped his lips around the head of the fake cock, sucking on it sharp as he pressed his head down. The motion caused the vibe to grind sweet like against whatever it was driving him nuts, chin pointing towards the ceiling as his body went through convulsions, trying desperately to compartmentalize all of the raw sensations he was feeling. He wanted it all to end, wanted him to never stop. Wanted everything to stop shattering around him.

He wheezed Tullk’s name out, wanting to tangle fingers into dreads, tug soft, whisper approval. But something about this felt disconnected, almost clinical, and by the fifth swallow of his psudodick, Kraglin was cumming, dry and overwhelming. All thoughts of trying to make some sort of connection during this sexual act left his body with a choked moan, voice cracking thanks to the artificial hormones in his system. As the last few waves of pleasure washed through him, Tullk turned the toy off and slowly removed the rod that kept the cock hard, the sight of it laying there with no jizz in sight making something in his stomach roll and his chest ache. He just came for the first time in his life, felt like he should be full of excitement and adrenaline. But as the teen laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling, he felt far emptier then he had walking that long stretch of road all those months back. He heard a soft chiming from the kitchen and the disconnected statement of “Happy Birthday, kid.” Pushed the first tears from Kraglin’s eyes.

After that, it felt like a silent storm, tears falling thick, mucus in his throat choking him as his chest shook with the force of his sobs. Tullk walked away after the third minute of the teen crying, not a word of assurance of comfort in sight, and he rolled onto his side to curl up tight, try to shut the world out. He wanted everything to just disappear, for all of it to stop. He felt so lost and what he had hoped would fix it all, those feelings that had begun to bloom when he got to know his host were wilting like flowers in the fall. He laid there and cried until he felt nothing but that emptiness, gaze unblinking and glazed as he stared at the wall across the room. The sound of boots headed his way didn’t fill him with joy but dread. And the loud sound of a heavy suitcase being set down put confirmation on what he had been dreading the day that near kiss happened. Tullk hesitated, Kraglin had no clue as to why. Things were already ended before they could begin, what more was there to say…? He loved the guy…? Apparently that was exactly what the older man had thought he would say, because when he spoke he sounded tired and a good twenty years older then he was.

“…these feelin’s…ye don’ actually feel ‘em. Yer still a young pup. Got much ta learn… I…I don’t do tha romance thing, an wit yer age…” Kraglin felt like he was being torn apart, those pieces he thought he had been connecting, life finally showing him what it would feel like to be cared about. It just solidified the thought the teen had carried with him all his life. Love was fake. Sentiment was weak. You didn’t have no one but yourself at the end of the day, and that was all life was. “..I’m headed north fer werk. Won’t be back fer a few years. Ya can ‘ang here another week, but aftah that…” He trailed off and he sounded like it all didn’t effect him one bit and that hit him harder then the forced intimacy he was just pushed into. Instead of sorrow, he felt a ball of anger tightening in his chest and he shot up onto his feet so fast his head spun. But he landed a fist to the Scott’s jaw just fine, clipping his cheek with the next before he stumbled back, nostrils flaring with the betrayal rolling in his gut.

“I hate you…!! Y-you just pick me up, make me into something, and then desert me, just like that..!?” He shouted. He knew he sounded petulant. Like the child he was, but he didn’t care. He was far too hurt to think rationally and he tried to land another hit, arm being caught easy enough it told him Tullk had allowed him to land the first two blows. He screamed, entire frame shaking, buzzing with outrage and the feeling of being used. “I’m just some-some mutt to you, aren’t I..!? Just a stray dog you used when it was easiest for you and now you’re running away because your dog is learning to recognize you. Because-because I…THEY..! FUCK…!!” He clawed at his mohawk, stumbled a few more steps back, fuming. He choked on his next breath, everything feeling like it was tilting to the side sharp, and he just felt weak and so alone. He gave a dry sob, eyes closing tight. “…When I begin t-to trust you…” He hiccuped, but Tullk didn’t make a move to comfort him. The teen wasn’t sure if he would even want that. Instead, not another word spoken, the guy turned around and left, front door closing so soft but strong enough to shatter whatever it was that had been growing in his chest. And Kraglin’s strength left with him. He collapsed onto his knees, sobbing as snot dripped from his nose and his chest ached like he was being torn apart from the inside out.

 

 

Kraglin didn’t use the full week to get out of the house he had felt was the closest to a home he had ever come into contact with, memories far too painful to keep around. He packed the small amount of objects he owned into his old, beat up duffle bag, double checking he had everything as he stared blankly at the contents. Three pairs of pants, four shirts, two tank tops, and his small collections of knives he had been accumulating, eight laying covered as he zipped them up. Two more hid deep in his sweat pants, one final one stuck into the inside of his new steal toed boots he bought himself for an early birthday gift to himself. It was the best weapon to hide in case any of his jobs went wrong, and with this new one he had just bee propositioned for, the chances of things getting bloody was quite likely. This job was going to be a solo, of corse it was. Without Tullk, he had no in on the jobs his gang would do, therefore he had no way to get any cash pocketed. Sure, he had a few thousand saved up, but that was for his get-out-of-town fund. He had a goal in mind. Make a million doing shady jobs, no matter how bloody or dangerous, so long as he didn’t cross any of his own morals like doing harm to innocents, and then? Move to an island, build a home there, vacation all by his lonesome. Sell things he makes from a stall, maybe blades, yeah, that sounded nice.. 

He looked about the house and, after a pause, picked up a gun that had been left in the bedside drawer of the room he had been staying in, the walls feeling faded, wood under his feet resounding hollowly throughout the home. He lifted the heavy weapon, looking it over with an intense eye. It was a gift, something Tullk had given him on his first petty job with him, to use for protection in case things got too out of hand. A nice, hefty pistol that was all black, the grip smaller than normal pistols so it was easy to use. Kraglin wasn’t much for guns, proffered hand to hand fights, to feel his fists breaking bone and severing cartilage, but as he shifted to put the gun back, something had him hesitating. His chest was tight, and he knew it was stupid to hang onto something from someone who so obviously didn’t want a thing to do with him..but the man was the closest semblance of a friend he had ever had… When they weren’t ruining atmospheres with flirting that always fell short, things had been..fun. Their jobs they worked were action filled and some nights they would stay up drinking and just talking and laughing, the older man recounting past stories of when he was younger. So, weak as it may make him, he pocketed the gun in his light jean jean jacket, glancing around and inhaling deep before he walked down the halls, stride confident and head high. Hefting his bag up, he left the home and locked it up, key being tossed into the bushes as he made his way down the street and towards the main road, thinking over how he was going to get to the place he needed to stake out. Some pub or something, the ’Starfish’, or some shit, apparently the owner’s son was being bothered by some weird guy with a boner for the kid. Sounded about as shady as he was, but it promised good money and enough blood and liquor to drown his emotions for the next few days.

One long hitchhiking trip to the next few towns over, and Kraglin was at the entrance of what, honestly, looked like some sort of dive bar, face scrunching at the smell of piss and liquor hanging in the air. However, after seeing the light up neon sign of a plush ass in a pair of lace panties, he had no doubt in his mind that this place was definitely far seedier then he had first assumed the place was. No wonder they had one of his workers being stalked by someone… He went down one of the steps, but hesitated at the entrance, glad he had left early enough in the day for only a sparse amount of people to mill about, the party crowd probably not dragging their sweaty bodies from their bed until around two. He eyed the door with a bit of weariness, gaze flickering about. He knew he looked older than most people assumed, especially now that he had a bit of natural scruff coming in and his voice had finally stopped cracking unless he got a little too excited. But..this place was definitely twenty one years only, and if he was found out his real age… Okay, so he may have lied a bit about his age, but it wasn’t like the owner would have a policy against working with kids, right..? Smirking a bit to himself, he pushed his way through the door only for the smile to slowly fall off his face at the words above the bar. 

RULES. NO KILLING ON PROPERTY. STEAL FROM EVERYONE BUT EACH OTHER. WE DON’T DEAL IN KIDS’. 

Fuck.

Swallowing thick, mouth suddenly feeling as if he had swallowed a cactus, the teen turned around only to have an arm wrap around his shoulder and spin him back, coming face to face with a minx of a woman. She was about at his height, but he knew he had room to grow where as this woman could be anywhere from thirty years old to fifty, but one thing was for sure. She looked gorgeous in a deadly way, something akin to a panther with that wild black hair and bright green eyes, smile a bit on the haunting side. He opened his mouth to question what the woman wanted, maybe assure her he wasn’t there as a client, but she began to pull him along, forcing the brunet to stumble over his awkwardly long legs next to her.

“You must be Mr. Obfonteri, am I correct? Stakar has been bragging a lot about you, says you’re the perfect person for the job we have for you.” Her smile was as sharp as her gaze and Kraglin had to try a few times before he could swallow and reply, throat working like a turkey when it gobbled, the sight of it surely comical. “I-M’sorry, Miss…who are ya…?” He asked weakly and she gave a laugh that sounded like the hum of a blade being sharpened against a wet stone. “Oh, dear, I’m Aleta Ogord, your new boss’ wife..! Or rather ex wife, the paper’s haven’t been finalized and we haven’t fully decided if we wish to go through with it. Don’t go spreading that around, now, this is a secret, much as this job.” She gave a wink and Kraglin gave a bit of a blush. Sure, he wasn’t one for cunts, but he could defiantly appreciate beauty when he saw it. Turning to try and hide his embarrassment, he turned to look right into an open door and come face to face with, who he could only assume, was Stakar Ogord.

The man looked like the definition of a mean son of a bitch, hair grey and jaw strong, some what of a ‘Rocky’ feel to the guy with how much beef he was packing per arm, and the teen made a mental note to never piss the guy off. Expecting some form of long debriefing along with being shown around the place and forced to sign some kind of contract, Kraglin blinked dumbly when the large man walked right up and slapped a stack of hundreds into his sweaty palms, paper sticking to it like flies to honey paper.   
“Thousand now. Thousand when the man is gone. Don’t share where it’s from and don’t talk to any of my workers and we’re all good. Deal?” He was a bit short with his words, voice so deep it felt like it could shake the very structure of this odd sort of titty bar, and Kraglin gave a weak nod and pocketed the money numbly. He opened his mouth to ask what else, surely there had to be more to it, but somehow next he looked up, Stakar’s eyes seemed to flash bright. It was like the color of molten gold, or some type of sun shining around his dark pupils. Then it was gone, leaving the teen lightheaded as he nodded dumbly and walked out of the office, down halls he didn’t remember even entering through, and back out the door. Well…guess he had a job to do. One thing was for sure..those Ogords were a force to be messed with and Kraglin had no plans to meet their son.


	6. Maddness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Yondu's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter then I intended but I struggled to get the ideas in my head across on screen. Likes and Comments greatly appreciated, let me know how this worked out.
> 
> TW:   
> Underage, hints of underage non/con, child slavery, blood, piss
> 
> Song: Madness- Ruelle

The day is quiet. So very quiet. That is the first thing Yondu notices when he wakes up, gaze traversing the room. Blocks, stuffies, and a crib fresh and ready for the new baby. It was going to be a boy. The fact of that alone had the six year old feel like the rainbow splattered walls were closing in on him, tightening his chest and bringing panic up his throat. Happy little sparrows dangling from clear string from the ceiling gloated at him, the silence becoming deafening to the point the boy’s head began to pound. It was his birthday, yet why did he feel like his entire world was about to come crashing down..?

He worked through crawling out of his bed, pajamas warm and thick yet he was shivering as if he was outside. Where the wind howled and the cold seeped in through whatever cracks it found, windows frosting a ghostly grey. The home he grew up in felt hallow, walking into the hallway and down the stairs, large eyes searching for his parents. His ears didn’t pick up a single sound. No clicking of fingers on a keyboard in the study, not the soft tune of the radio playing the shouting voice of whoever it was that ruled the country now. Yondu wasn’t sure who it was, but he didn’t sound very nice or smart… His tone sounded a lot like his father’s. Condescending..Thick..Scary… He swallowed thick, bare feet slapping softly on the linoleum, head poking in to find the same thing in the kitchen he found everywhere else in the home. Nothing. An emptiness that stretched farther and farther with every room he checked. 

He walked slowly to the front room, gazing outside long enough to see the car wasn’t in the driveway. They had left him behind. All alone. 

He had seen a movie around Christmas when he was younger about this.. A boy accidentally being left home, running the house like a king. Getting everything he had wanted and fending off bad men with a confidence Yondu had never felt. But this wasn’t that movie and his parents were not scrambling to get back to him, right their wrong. No. They knew what they had done, intentions loud as the soft unlocking of the garage door. The boy wasn’t sure what it was about it, but the moment his eyes laid on the man who entered, finely pressed suit and smile like a snake? He knew he was never returning to this home.

The guy was disconcertingly kind, ruffling his head of dirty blonde hair and guiding him gently by the base of his back, talking in a soft voice that promised him a better life. Wherever it was they were going, he was sure it would not be the magical world this stranger was weaving for him…

The scenery outside of the vehicle they had been driving in for at least a few hours was just as underwhelming as the inside of the car, big eyes looking around, trying to find some kind of hint as to who this man was and where his parents were. His stomach was rumbling for something to fill it and he had to pee awful bad. He had tried to tell the man twice now, that he had to go. But the guy had ignored him and just kept driving. Yondu opened his mouth to remind the guy for a third time, but then he felt a moisture collecting between his eyes and froze. Tears of mortification sprung to his eyes, face hot and world narrowing down to the puddle slowly forming under his cheeks. He heard the sudden curses from the stranger through wool in his ears, car screeching off to the side of the road. He expected the man to reassure him, clean him up, offer new clothes or a towel. What he didn’t expect was a sharp burst of pain across his cheek as a palm connected with his entire left of his face, a sob startled from him as his ears rang. 

“Those fuckers didn’t say the shit wasn’t trained, fuck!” Came the angered shouts, a plastic bag getting pressed under him to keep the piss up close, soaking into his pajamas and cooling cold and clammy on his skin. He began to shiver, but didn’t ask for new pants. Fear kept his throat frozen save for a few hiccups, hunched over himself as the car began to exhilarate once more, stranger cursing under his breath all the while. His stomach still ached, knotting up within his guts as it began to digest itself, body eating away at stored fat. 

They drove on like that, man relaxing the further they got from Yondu’s home, the world slowly getting dark around them, sun setting. The boy didn’t quite remember when he had fallen asleep slumped against the car door, but he was startled awake at his makeshift pillow being ripped from him, near falling out of the car were it not for the seatbelt keeping him in. He rubbed grit from his eyes, back aching from being in such an odd position for however long it was he had been in it. It wasn’t the mean man who greeted him, though. This was a different guy. No facial hair and he wore shades, clothes more disheveled, street wear. Not like the suit the other guy had worn. He didn’t smile, felt far more dangerous to the kid somehow. So he kept his head down and followed the man into a small run down shack.

Chills in the air sent shivers like phone wires as the wind blew, pants still soaked and now far colder out of the vehicle. He hoped he would be given clean clothes, legs chafing from the continuous moisture, but it appeared Yondu had more things to worry about then his pissed soaked pants.

The inside of the home was just as cold as the outside, dirt covering the creaky floor and leaks in the roof. Trembling with more then just fear, he turned his gaze to the straight faced man, not liking how thin and tall he appeared to be. Soft pitter-patter took the boy’s attention from his new keeper and he turned to find three other children, one boy and two girls. They all had different qualities to them, obviously not siblings, none of them. But their clothes were dirty and tattered, some having holes littering them, and that didn’t bode well for the situation he was in. But it would be okay, his parents would be here to pick him up soon. He just had to wait a bit, right…?

 

 

Three months and Yondu stopped thinking his parents would come to him. Eight and he forgot their faces, their voices. Over a year and he barely remembered what his old life had been like. Knew he was to stay in this run down shack forever, or until he was passed off to someone else. That was how it worked in this place. You spent all day going out and begging for money or food, hands out, palms up. Eyes as big as you could get them. Didn’t make your goal of change that day? You didn’t get to eat. Make far more then you should be making? Jessie would reward you by taking you back into his room, show you his nice shiny camera. Sometimes he’d even take pictures. And that was when he praised you, fed you an extra roll, and you got to share the pull out with him instead of curling up on the ratty nest of blankets in the corner of the bathroom. It wasn’t so bad, even though he hugged a lot when he slept. If you act real good for a few years? Someone came to take you home with them. Most of the time it was older men with kind faces and warm rough hands.

Yondu didn’t envy those who were picked up.

He may be young, but he was almost nine. He was smart enough to understand those smiles to be dirty and their touches to spread a cancer wherever they touched. Like the sea, it enticed you, urged you to follow. But if you trusted, followed after them? The current would take hold and drag you down. Drown you. And Yondu didn’t know how to swim. Didn’t care to learn.

But even those who don’t wish to swim? Sometimes get knocked into the cold frigid water, fingers going numb, lungs burning for air. And you have to make a choice.

Swim. Or let the current take you away.

The day Yondu turned nine? That was when he had to learn.

Just like when he awoke that one day, entire home silent, something feeling off. Desolate. Dangerous. It felt the same. He could feel something off, prickling his flesh with goosebumps, body screaming for him to stay asleep as long as he could. But he hadn’t slept barely any that night, and if he stayed in any longer he would get a lashing for being lazy. Trying to avoid work. 

He drug himself out of the mess of sheets, foot getting stuck in one of the holes and it took a moment to untangle himself before he silently crept from the bathroom. Soft murmurs came from the small living room, smell of cigarettes wafting towards him, burning his lungs. He forced down a cough, peeking around the corner to find a young man, maybe not but fifteen years older than him. His movements were smooth, spoke with a clarity that he hadn’t heard since he lived with his parents. No doubt about it, this man had wealth. And that made the young boy uneasy. Wealth was dangerous. All consuming with self entitlement.

Yondu turned to flee, but froze when Jessie, in his monotone voice as normal, called him, told him to come greet their guest. That wasn’t right. Usually all the kids were ushered away except for..

Except for the one being picked up.

Suddenly unable to catch his breath, he straightened his spine and trained his eyes on the floor as he slowly stepped into the room. He didn’t like how the guy looked at him. Like he was something so delicate. A rare specimen. A piece of meat.

He felt sick. Sat through the rest of their conversation. When it was time for the man to go? He took Yondu by the hand and led him towards his car. That was it. No asking if he wanted to go, no collecting of the small knick knacks he had stolen and stashed away over the past years. Just…went with him.

The car started, the boy distinctly remembering a hand being slid onto his leg. And Yondu awoke feeling phantom fingers over his thighs, cock throbbing and eyes wet.

He pulled himself out of his bed with a grunt, rubbing grit from his eye and trying desperately to chase away the lingering memory of his dreams. He needed a drink. He needed to get fucked up until he couldn’t think anymore.

He needed Taser.

Making up his mind, he shoved himself into some ripped jeans, tossed the first jacket he found on, and stuffed his shoes on as he left his room. Sneaking slowly past Stakar’s room, he hurried down the stairs, avoiding the bar and going out the back. He stepped one foot out into the unusually cold air. The crispness felt good on his skin, cooling the sweat collecting over his skin. And then the tang of iron in the air hit his nose and he froze.

He hadn’t noticed it before, been too busy stuck in his own mind. Thinking of how quick he could get Taser to break his nose and fuck him rough against the wall. But now he was paying attention, he was all too aware of the deep red drips trailing to the end of the alley. And the body crouched over himself, blood covering him, breathing rapid and grey blue eyes wild. A dark mohawk stuck up in different places, matted down by what Yondu could only assume was blood. 

He didn’t even think, just snapped at the guy to stay right where he was before he turned right on his heel and darted back inside, shouting for Stakar and Aleta. They were both pissed, which was to be expected. But once he began to explain, breathless with shock and panic, Stakar snatched the blankets off of himself and raced right after Yondu who had already stumbled back down the stairs, out the back door and into that alleyway. 

Only to find it empty, just a puddle of blood and the faint scent of smoke.


	7. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit too real for our little Kraggles and he gets into a tight situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way longer then I had thought it would and I really struggled to get the point across. Sorry it ended up being so short, but I hope you all like it any way!
> 
> TW: Blood, violence, death of minor characters, mentions of past abuse.
> 
> Song: Control- Halsey

Stalking a stalker is a harder then Kraglin thought it would be.

He sat atop a building he had been watching from for the past day and a half, eyes out for any sight of the grubby man stalking his client’s son. Finding where the guy lived hadn’t been too hard, just had to watch the Starhawk day in and day out for three days before the guy showed back up. He was tall, eyes analytical and suit pristine, definitely someone who didn’t belong there. ’Tivan Taneleer’ was what he went by, real odd name for a millionaire businessman who simply worked in “Collections and Restorations of Rare Items”, but then again the whole family seemed..odd. The business had been founded by his father who keeled over some ten years ago, putting Tivan into possession of it at a tender age of twenty four. He built it up bigger, made a name of it, and gained far more wealth as the head of the “CRRI” then his father probably would have. Only odd thing is, what with all the success, Kraglin would have expected his younger brother to be the one to stalk someone, whose name was even odder and his where abouts much more..eccentric. “En Dwi Gast”, or “Gaston Taneleer”, had been kicked out of the family not a day after the death of their father, the man not gaining any spot for the job and robbed of any money or title he may have held in the family. However, even odder..Gaston, or rather, “Grandmaster” as his followers enjoyed calling him, gained money in other ways that the teen couldn’t trace, and can be found on his own island for parties and orgies.. He had been forced from all he knew, yet he created his own place and seemed far happier then..Tivan.

Rich people were…always a mystery to him, and always would be, it seemed. 

From up above the sky was beginning to darken, azure fading off into a navy that made him think of the ocean before a storm. How he knew what that even looked like was a mystery, had never been anywhere near a beach, never went on a family vacation. Fuck, he didn’t even know how to swim. Ass going numb from crouching in the same position the past hour, the teen shifted about as he tugged softly at his piercing but froze when a man appeared. Just one glance told him that it was none other than Tivan, finely pressed suit as dark as the skies above, spine straight as he walked down a near by alley with a purpose, camera in hand, gaze flickering around to assure there were no onlookers. Kraglin’s adams apple bobbed, heart jumping up to his throat, the pit of a plum choking him from breath and he had to think fast as he packed his small bag of belongings and dashed down the emergency ladder back to the world below. It took him longer then he had hoped it would, lungs burning as he gasped for breath and he felt his hopes fade as he snuck around the corner into an alley that was empty save for some trash and a back door.

Heaving a sigh, Kraglin patted his hips down until he found a stray cigarette in the pocket of his pants, rooting his light jacket for a lighter. He was beginning to become a smoker, picking the habit up from the last person he had wanted to be reminded of, yet here he was, unable to get the taste of nicotine off his tongue, chest remaining tight until that first blissful inhale. Cursing under his breath as he tried to coax a flame from the pickpockets zippo, he froze at the sound of a click.

Clicks were funny, you see. Because there were different tones that would come from different things. Muted and a bit on the slow side followed by a beep? Unlocking a car door. Sharp, metallic click followed by the glow of fire? A lighter the brunet now clutched tight in his hand. Harsh, double click of a pistol? Well, shit. Don’t call him smart or nothin’, but that kind of click was pretty hard to get confused with any others, and it sent a cold hard brick of fear down his spine to settle heavy in his gut.

“Why are you following me?”

The voice was a bit slow and slurred, like an intellectual a few drinks in, but a whiff gave no hint of liquor from the man behind him. Guess he was just the posh type, a northerner of some sort. Kraglin never thought to look up the state the man came from and figured now wasn’t really the time to even contemplate going back to check.

“See, that’s funny, I thought YOU was followin’ ME.” Kraglin forced a laugh, making to turn around but the cold hard press of the gun to the back of his skull kept him from continuing, dropping his bag to slowly raise his hands. “Okay. Alright, I was.. I was gonna follow ya home an maybe rob ya. Guess yer packin’ more than me.” He chuckled weakly, stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide the tremor there. It wasn’t like it was the first time he was held at gun point, you know? Just..the first time he was all alone when it happened…

Sweat was beading on his forehead, layering his back and slicking up his under arms, thin leather jacket squeaking against it uncomfortably and the teen mentally cursed himself for being dumb enough to run head first into this situation. He knew he should have just taken the first thousand and run, face whatever wrath of the Ogords, outrun whatever they tried to throw his way, and go in hiding even further from where he was at. But no..greed had taken him over, along for the chase of adrenaline he was looking for. The promise of an adventure. Of the power he felt standing over his mother’s shitty boyfriend, knife in hand and blood glistening as it dripped off of it…

He near jumped when that cold metal shoved his back, deep voice gaining a harshness to it, causing the lanky male to stumble.

“Turn around. We’re taking a walk.” 

When people usually said that in action or horror movies, a ‘walk’ was to another alley on your knees with the gun pressed to your head before a bullet tears through your flesh. That wasn’t what he had meant though, it seemed. The ‘walk’ the man had been speaking of was to his car he had parked right outside of the alley, and it had an honest to god driver in it. What century was this, even!? Kraglin knew now was not the time to be thinking such things, gun pressing to his spine and all, but it seriously stuck out in such a dump of a neighborhood as the one they were in. If Tivan was trying to be inconspicuous, he was doing a shit job of not getting caught…

Words being shoved under his tongue, gnawing on them like a cow chewing cud, he sucked it up and slid into the back seat, gaze out the window as he feigned boredom. No use in freaking out now, far as he saw it, if he was killed due to his own stupidity then he got just what he had asked for taking such a shady job from a high end whore house. Call it ‘natural selection’, or something like that.

The ride was short and underwhelming, taking them a few blocks away to a run down apartment. It definitely wasn’t the nice expensive home the country boy had been expecting, blue greys flickering about to try and get an idea as to where he could go if he somehow got out of this mess, but when they parked and the driver turned out to be a thick side of beefy muscle man? Well, fuck Kraglin sideways, today was the day of his funeral.

Except, it seemed like like his funeral would be postponed, at least for a couple of hours. Because, there, fuming at the front door of the apartment they were headed towards, was none other than Tivan’s baby brother, “Grandmaster” Gaston…

If the air before Tivan noticed his brother could be described as ‘thick’, the air now was electrical. Dangerous. As soon as the door closed and they were safe behind thin walls, muscle man driving off as per Tivan’s orders, the shouting began.

You see..Kraglin wasn’t too good at being around screaming, call it a tick of some sort, reminders of slaps in the face and broken bottles over his skull. Flashes of spittle flying, angry faces and the scent of booze surrounded him and his breathing became short as he stumbled back, getting some sort of tunnel vision. They were fighting now, something about money left in a Will, gun being flashed, waved about. It made his breath hiccup in his throat, catching like cactus in your flesh when you got far too close despite your mind telling you it was dangerous. And this situation right here?

This was far more than dangerous.

And he needed to get out of it.

Kraglin’s eyes bounced jittery across the room, adrenaline pumping like someone high on stimulants, pupils dilated and hands shaking. Sweat dripped from his fingertips as he watched the argument unfolding before him, counting down seconds in his head and when he got to zero? He pounced.

Using all of his body weight, he let his instincts take over, leg swinging out to kick the back of Tivan’s legs, watching him go down only a moment before he turned on his brother. He should have frozen when the gun faced him, but he didn’t. He ducked down and avoided the bullet that whizzed by, shot echoing in his ears, left one ringing and right one perhaps too far gone to ever hope to use fully again, another item on his body he couldn’t feel a real connection to. Kraglin dashed forward head first, bashing into Gaston’s gut, feeling more than hearing the pained wheeze from the man as his breath was punched rough out of his lungs by a sharp bone of his right shoulder; he watched him go down. Scrambling for the gun at their feet, he procures it like someone who had been using one all his life, never mind this was the first time he truly held one. The weight of it was solid, promising. Deadly.

Not a thought went through his head as he swung around, sending a bullet through Tivan’s head, then one through his brother’s as well, blood splattering onto his jaw, catching onto the hair that was transforming from peach fuzz into stubble. His breath was rapid and erratic, eyes flickering left and right, half expecting the sound of sirens to wail, for cops to knock the door down and haul him in. But minutes passed and all he heard was his own panting exhales, body trembling at what had just transpired.

He had killed again. Two people, three total in the past year. That..that was a lot of something the teen had no time to think about.

Pocketing the gun, his mind ran wild as he yanked his hoodie up, leather jacket wrapping securely back around him, and with his duffle bag slung over his bruising shoulder he ran. It seemed to be all he was good for. Instead of heading to a different state, ditching his mohawk, maybe getting a wig? He ended up in that alley he had been picked up in, gasping for breath as he curled up in the far corner. The smell of garbage, rotting flesh tossed out the day before, stale beer and vomit wafted in on all sides. But all Kraglin could smell was iron, tongue darting out and tasting it. He pressed his back to the cool brick wall behind him, thighs trembling as he shoved a red smeared hand down his pants. 

Gnawed off nails scrambled about in slick and blood, seeking desperately for that bean shaped spot he had found what felt like ages ago, now enlarged from the cocktail of hormones in his system. His lids fluttered shut with the inside of his cheek caught between blunt teeth as he worked his fingers as fast as he could. He barely bit back the sound he made when he came, toes curling in his boots, tingles shaking through his very core as his mind blanked for a blissful second and all he felt was pleasure and blood and contentment. 

Then the sound of a door opening caught him off guard, freezing with eyes large, swimming with shame and panic. He shuffled his hand as fast he could out of his underwear, relieved the male didn’t notice him until he moved, but that meant there was no hiding the blood that coated his chest and half his face. 

Fuck.

“Fuck. S-stay right there, fUCK!” Came the eloquent shout at him, a lot farther from the scream of horror the freaking out teen expected, but the moment that bald guy disappeared to do whatever the fuck he was planning to? Kraglin bolted. He picked his bag back up and ran fast as his legs could carry him, body tense, gaze darting about like a feral animal. The hairs on the back of his neck wouldn’t stop standing on end and his heart was pounding rough as reality began to set in and he found himself with no where to go after just committing murder.

He stumbled to his feet a few alleys down, his last meal combined with the pleasant hint of water and stomach acid lurched up his throat like a bat out of hell, doubling over to heave as he heard the faint sounds of a siren.

He was royally and utterly fucked.


	8. The Mother We Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A light, filler chapter that was a bit hard to get myself to start on, but is ultimately necessary for the story. We finally have Yondu and Krags meet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter:  
> The mother we share- Chvrches

Yondu’s mind was filled.

But for once in what felt like years, it wasn’t full of past mistakes. Of the abuse he was thrust into as a wee babe. Not of Taserface, or of even his thoughts of leaving again, as it all would usually get to be too much. No.

His mind was full of the sight of a blood covered guy, tall and thin, eyes large and startlingly blue in the expanse of red speckled skin.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop thinking about him, which was the most frustrating part. He didn’t know this kid. Sure, he saw the fear as the kid froze, caught against a wall blood soaking him to the bone, but that didn’t mean shit. Yondu didn’t owe anything to this stranger, so why couldn’t he shake his mind of him?

Stakar had questioned him extensively after being pointed to an alley that appeared to hold, not only no one, but just a puddle of blood and no kid in sight. Yondu described the male as best he could, something that seemed suspiciously like recognition lighting up in Ogord’s eyes before he was dismissed and forced into lock down in his room for the remainder of the night, gaining a warning as to the reason Yondu, who was not supposed to be stepping foot outside, would have reason to find someone in the alley in the first place.

He mumbled before slipping out and counted himself as lucky that he didn’t get more restrictions piled on top of the ones already in effect.

But now he was stuck, laying in his nest of blankets and pillows, staring up at the ceiling as his mind just kept going back to the boy, over and over.

How old was he, he wondered..? He didn’t seem to have facial hair, but that didn’t mean much.. He could be anywhere from sixteen to thirty, with the length of those cricket legs of his, but with how thin he was…

Did he even eat properly…?

Shit, now he was damned WORRYING about some stranger, he really needed to reevaluate his life…

Maybe he could sneak a cigarette, get out of this room. It was being cornered that was causing him to think of such useless things, that was the issue here.

He yanked his leather jacket on, soft fur around the collar tickling his neck, a familiar sensation mixed with the smell of nicotine and his own sweat similar to wrapping up in a safety blanket and he relaxed with every step he took towards his door. He peeked out as he slowly cracked his door, checking around for any sign of Stakar or the tattle tells he surrounds the club in before making his way out and down the stairs towards the back entrance.

He opened the door to find someone slouched in the alley, a thin form without a jacket on, hugging himself with a duffle bag at his side, and de ja vu tickled in the back of his mind.

He’s been here before.

And then it clicked.

“You!” He near shouted, causing the guy to jump where he sat, head snapping up to look up to Yondu, startled.

Then, something Yondu hadn’t expected happened. He ducked his head between his shoulders and looked all..sheepish.

Didn’t run for it, didn’t threaten him or anything, just..sat there.

The male couldn’t help but stare back with a look of incredulity on his ugly mug.

The lanky fucker waved weakly.

“You, uh…got any rooms open or a couch to sit on…?”

Indignant, Yondu puffed his chest out, crossing arms over a scarred up chest.

“And why tha fuck would I offer one up to you?”

The guy seemed to be weighing his options, licking his lips as his gaze darted about nervously, then he looked back up to the guy with a spark of defiance he hadn’t expected. He still had a bit of baby flab around his jaw, couldn’t be older then twenty at the most, definitely not someone old enough to be in a titty bar.

“Stakar owes me one.” He declared.

 

 

Stakar, it seemed, was now sitting in his office, thumb and forefinger rubbing the bridge of his nose like if he rubbed fast enough, he may snort a genie out and get a wish granted to him. He’d probably wish to be anywhere but there.

“So, lemme get this straight, you hired a KID-“

“Ain’t a kid…”

Yondu snapped his head around, giving the guy a once over before sneering. “You can’t even have hair on your nuts yet, yer a KID.” He then turned back onto Stakar to continue, Aleta watching on from the corner of the room, amusement lighting her eyes up. “You hired this idiot to kill that fucker that’s been stalking me?”

“Hired him to WATCH the guy, not off him.”

“I don’t believe that for a fuckin’ second.” Yondu threw back, looking far more disgruntled for someone who was sans one stalking psychopath, in Kraglin’s honest opinion. He said so to them and only got a raised brow and a middle finger in his direction.

Heaving a sigh, Stakar put on a disgruntled expression as he opened up a lower drawer and rifled around in it before bringing out a stack of bills and slapping them onto the desk.

“Fuck it, fine, just take your damn money and get out of my establishment.” He growled with frustration and Yondu practically sputtered as the lanky boy ducked down between his shoulders and scrambled for the aforementioned cash.

“Hold on, no. You got this kid, who can’t be but sixteen at the most-“

“I’m eighteen and a half, you fucker-“

“An after he gets blood on his hands fer ya, you’re gonna throw him out to get snatched up by some pigs in uniform? You can’t be that fuckin’ heartless.”

“Kid can watch after himself, what he does to avoid the repercussions of such actions is on him.”

Kraglin, irritated and damned tired of being talked about as if he wasn’t present, took a step forward and raised his hand.

“Look, sorry, Mr. Ogord, Sir. But, I gotta side with your son on this one.” 

Ignoring the grumbling and flushed face of said male, Stakar eyed the teen up and down silently for a moment before turning to look to his sort-of-wife to gain her opinion on the matter.

“I say we take the little stray in for a few days, at least until things settle down. From what the boy said, the cops should rule it a double homicide between two feuding brothers and let it be.” 

Stakar glared but heaved a sigh of submission, Yondu glared at the male and stormed out, and Kraglin stood there uncertainly as Aleta strode his way with an evil little smirk on her face. Swallowing audibly, he took a shaky step back, eyes large and imploring.

“So tell me, boy…do you dance…?”


End file.
